Rʀ3 THE 5 AM CLUB

CHAPTER 1 The Dangerous Deed A gun would be too violent. A noose would be too ancient. And a knife blade to the wrist would be too silent. So, the question became, How could a once-glorious life be ended swiftly and precisely, with minimum mess yet maximum impact? Only a year ago, circumstances had been dramatically more hopeful. The entrepreneur had been widely celebrated as a titan of her industry, a leader of society and a philanthropist. She was in her late thirties, steer- ing the technology company she founded in her dorm room in college to ever-increasing levels of marketplace dominance while producing products that her customers revered. Yet now she was being blindsided, facing a mean-spirited and jealousy- fueled coup that would significantly dilute her ownership stake in the busi- ness she'd invested most of her life building, forcing her to find a new job. The cruelty of this remarkable turn of events was proving to be unbear- able for the entrepreneur. Beneath her regularly icy exterior beat a caring, compassionate and deeply loving heart. She felt life itself had betrayed her. And that she deserved so much better. ˈʧæptə 1 ðə ˈdeɪnʤᵊrəs diːd ə ɡʌn wəd bi tuː ˈvaɪəlᵊnt. ə nuːs wəd bi tuː ˈeɪnʃᵊnt. ənd ə naɪf bleɪd tə ðə rɪst wəd bi tuː ˈsaɪlənt. səʊ, ðə ˈkwɛsʧən bɪˈkeɪm, haʊ kəd ə wʌns-ˈɡlɔːriəs laɪf bi ˈɛndɪd ˈswɪftli ənd prɪˈsaɪsli, wɪð ˈmɪnɪməm mɛs jɛt ˈmæksɪməm ˈɪmpækt? ˈəʊnli ə jɪər əˈɡəʊ, ˈsɜːkəmstɑːnsɪz həd biːn drəˈmætɪkᵊli mɔː ˈhəʊpfᵊl. ði ˌɒntrəprəˈnɜː həd biːn ˈwaɪdli ˈsɛləbreɪtɪd əz ə ˈtaɪtᵊn əv hər ˈɪndəstri, ə ˈliːdər əv səˈsaɪəti ənd ə fɪˈlænθrəpɪst. ʃi wəz ɪn hə leɪt ˈθɜːtɪz, stɪə- ing ðə tɛkˈnɒləʤi ˈkʌmpəni ʃi ˈfaʊndɪd ɪn hə dɔːm ruːm ɪn ˈkɒlɪʤ tu ˈɛvər-ɪnˈkriːsɪŋ ˈlɛvᵊlz əv ˈmɑːkɪtpleɪs ˈdɒmɪnəns waɪl prəˈdjuːsɪŋ ˈprɒdʌkts ðət hə ˈkʌstəməz rɪˈvɪəd. jɛt naʊ ʃi wəz ˈbiːɪŋ blindsided, ˈfeɪsɪŋ ə miːn-ˈspɪrɪtɪd ənd ˈʤɛləsi- ˈfjuːəld kuː ðət wəd sɪɡˈnɪfɪkᵊntli daɪˈljuːt hər ˈəʊnəʃɪp steɪk ɪn ðə busi- nɛs ʃiːd ɪnˈvɛstɪd məʊst əv hə laɪf ˈbɪldɪŋ, ˈfɔːsɪŋ hə tə faɪnd ə njuː ʤɒb. ðə ˈkruːəlti əv ðɪs rɪˈmɑːkəbᵊl tɜːn əv ɪˈvɛnts wəz ˈpruːvɪŋ tə bi ˌʌnˈbeə- ˈeɪbᵊl fə ði ˌɒntrəprəˈnɜː. bɪˈniːθ hə ˈrɛɡjələli ˈaɪsi ɪkˈstɪəriə biːt ə ˈkeərɪŋ, kəmˈpæʃᵊnət ənd ˈdiːpli ˈlʌvɪŋ hɑːt. ʃi fɛlt laɪf ɪtˈsɛlf həd bɪˈtreɪd hɜː. ənd ðət ʃi dɪˈzɜːvd səʊ mʌʧ ˈbɛtə. ʃi kənˈsɪdəd ˈswɒləʊɪŋ ə ʤaɪˈɡæntɪk ˈbɒtᵊl əv ˈsliːpɪŋ pɪlz. ðə ˈdeɪnʤᵊrəs bi diːd wəd bi ˈkliːnə ðɪs weɪ. ʤəst teɪk ðəm ɔːl ənd ɡɛt ðə ʤɒb dʌn fɑːst, ʃi θɔːt. aɪ niːd tu ɪˈskeɪp ðɪs peɪn. She considered swallowing a gigantic bottle of sleeping pills. The dangerous be deed would be cleaner this way. Just take them all and get the job done fast, she thought. I need to escape this pain.

Then, she spotted something on the stylish oak dresser in her all. white bedroom-a ticket to a personal optimization conference that her mother had given her. The entrepreneur usually laughed at people who attended such events, calling them "broken winged" and saying they were seeking the answers of a pseudo guru when everything they needed to live a prolific and successful life was already within them. Maybe it was time to rethink her opinion. She couldn't see many options. Either she'd go to the seminar-and experience some break- through that would save her life. Or she'd find her peace. Via a quick death. ðɛn, ʃi ˈspɒtɪd ˈsʌmθɪŋ ɒn ðə ˈstaɪlɪʃ əʊk ˈdrɛsər ɪn hər ɔːl. waɪt ˈbɛdruːm-eɪ ˈtɪkɪt tu ə ˈpɜːsᵊnᵊl ˌɒptɪmaɪˈzeɪʃᵊn ˈkɒnfᵊrᵊns ðət hə ˈmʌðə həd ˈɡɪvᵊn hɜː. ði ˌɒntrəprəˈnɜː ˈjuːʒuəli lɑːft ət ˈpiːpᵊl huː əˈtɛndɪd sʌʧ ɪˈvɛnts, ˈkɔːlɪŋ ðɛm "ˈbrəʊkᵊn wɪŋd" ənd ˈseɪɪŋ ðeɪ wə ˈsiːkɪŋ ði ˈɑːnsəz əv ə ˈsjuːdəʊ ˈɡʊruː wɛn ˈɛvriθɪŋ ðeɪ ˈniːdɪd tə lɪv ə prəˈlɪfɪk ənd səkˈsɛsfᵊl laɪf wəz ɔːlˈrɛdi wɪˈðɪn ðɛm. ˈmeɪbi ɪt wəz taɪm tə riːˈθɪŋk hər əˈpɪnjən. ʃi ˈkʊdᵊnt siː ˈmɛni ˈɒpʃᵊnz. ˈaɪðə ʃiːd ɡəʊ tə ðə ˈsɛmɪnɑːr-ænd ɪkˈspɪəriəns səm breɪk- θruː ðət wəd seɪv hə laɪf. ɔː ʃiːd faɪnd hə piːs. ˈvaɪə ə kwɪk dɛθ.

CHAPTER 2 A Daily Philosophy on Becoming Legendary "Do not allow your fire to go out, spark by irreplaceable spark in the hopeless swamps of the not-quite, the not yet, and the not at all. Do not let the hero in your soul perish in lonely frustration for the life you deserved and have never been able to reach. The world you desire can be won. It exists. It is real. It is possible. It is yours." -Ayn Rand He was a speaker of the finest kind. A genuine Spellbinder. Nearing the end of a fabled career and now in his eighties, he had become revered throughout the world as a grandmaster of inspiration, a legend of leadership and a sincere statesman helping everyday people realize their greatest gifts. In a culture filled with volatility, uncertainty and insecurity, The Spellbinder's events drew stadium-sized numbers of human beings who longed not only to lead masterful lives filled with creativity, productivity and prosperity but also to exist in a way that passionately elevated human- ity. So that, at the end, they would feel confident they had left a wonderful legacy and made their mark on the generations that would follow. This man's work was unique. It blended insights that fortified the war- rior within our characters with ideas that honored the soulful poet who resides inside the heart. His messaging showed ordinary individuals how to succeed at the highest levels of the business realm yet reclaim the magic of a life richly lived. So, we return to the sense of awe we once knew before a hard and cold world placed our natural genius into bond age by an orgy of complexity, superficiality and technological distraction. ˈʧæptə 2 ə ˈdeɪli fɪˈlɒsəfi ɒn bɪˈkʌmɪŋ ˈlɛʤᵊndri "dʊ nɒt əˈlaʊ jə faɪə tə ɡəʊ aʊt, spɑːk baɪ ˌɪrɪˈpleɪsəbᵊl spɑːk ɪn ðə ˈhəʊpləs swɒmps əv ðə nɒt-kwaɪt, ðə nɒt jɛt, ənd ðə nɒt ət ɔːl. dʊ nɒt lɛt ðə ˈhɪərəʊ ɪn jə səʊl ˈpɛrɪʃ ɪn ˈləʊnli frʌsˈtreɪʃᵊn fə ðə laɪf jʊ dɪˈzɜːvd ənd həv ˈnɛvə biːn ˈeɪbᵊl tə riːʧ. ðə wɜːld jʊ dɪˈzaɪə kən bi wʌn. ɪt ɪɡˈzɪsts. ɪt s rɪəl. ɪt s ˈpɒsəbᵊl. ɪt s jɔːz." -Ayn rænd hi wəz ə ˈspiːkər əv ðə ˈfaɪnɪst kaɪnd. ə ˈʤɛnjuɪn ˈspɛlˌbaɪndə. ˈnɪərɪŋ ði ɛnd əv ə ˈfeɪbᵊld kəˈrɪər ənd naʊ ɪn ɪz ˈeɪtiz, hi həd bɪˈkʌm rɪˈvɪəd θruːˈaʊt ðə wɜːld əz ə grandmaster əv ˌɪnspɪˈreɪʃᵊn, ə ˈlɛʤənd əv ˈliːdəʃɪp ənd ə sɪnˈsɪə ˈsteɪtsmən ˈhɛlpɪŋ ˈɛvrideɪ ˈpiːpᵊl ˈrɪəlaɪz ðeə ˈɡreɪtɪst ɡɪfts. ɪn ə ˈkʌlʧə fɪld wɪð ˌvɒləˈtɪləti, ʌnˈsɜːtnti ənd ˌɪnsɪˈkjʊərəti, ðə ˈspɛlˌbaɪndəz ɪˈvɛnts druː ˈsteɪdiəm-saɪzd ˈnʌmbəz əv ˈhjuːmən ˈbiːɪŋz huː lɒŋd nɒt ˈəʊnli tə liːd ˈmɑːstəfᵊl lɪvz fɪld wɪð ˌkriːeɪˈtɪvəti, ˌprɒdʌkˈtɪvəti ənd prɒsˈpɛrəti bət ˈɔːlsəʊ tu ɪɡˈzɪst ɪn ə weɪ ðət ˈpæʃᵊnətli ˈɛlɪveɪtɪd ˈhjuːmən- ity. səʊ ðæt, ət ði ɛnd, ðeɪ wəd fiːl ˈkɒnfɪdᵊnt ðeɪ həd lɛft ə ˈwʌndəfᵊl ˈlɛɡəsi ənd meɪd ðeə mɑːk ɒn ðə ˌʤɛnəˈreɪʃᵊnz ðət wəd ˈfɒləʊ. ðɪs mænz wɜːk wəz juːˈniːk. ɪt ˈblɛndɪd ˈɪnsaɪts ðət ˈfɔːtɪfaɪd ðə wɔː- rior wɪˈðɪn ˈaʊə ˈkærəktəz wɪð aɪˈdɪəz ðət ˈɒnəd ðə ˈsəʊlfᵊl ˈpəʊɪt huː rɪˈzaɪdz ɪnˈsaɪd ðə hɑːt. hɪz ˈmɛsɪʤɪŋ ʃəʊd ˈɔːdᵊnᵊri ˌɪndɪˈvɪʤuəlz haʊ tə səkˈsiːd ət ðə ˈhaɪɪst ˈlɛvᵊlz əv ðə ˈbɪznɪs rɛlm jɛt rɪˈkleɪm ðə ˈmæʤɪk əv ə laɪf ˈrɪʧli lɪvd. səʊ, wi rɪˈtɜːn tə ðə sɛns əv ɔː wi wʌns njuː bɪˈfɔːr ə hɑːd ənd kəʊld wɜːld pleɪst ˈaʊə ˈnæʧᵊrᵊl ˈʤiːniəs ˈɪntə bɒnd eɪʤ baɪ ən ˈɔːʤi əv kəmˈplɛksəti, ˌsuːpəˌfɪʃiˈæləti ənd ˌtɛknəˈlɒʤɪkᵊl dɪˈstrækʃᵊn.

Page -4 Though The Spellbinder was tall, his advanced years left him slightly bent over. As he walked the platform, he stepped carefully yet gracefully. A precisely fitted charcoal gray suit with soft white pinstripes gave him an elegant look. And a pair of blue-tinted eyeglasses added just the right amount of cool. "Life's too short to play small with your talents," The Spellbinder spoke to the room of thousands. "You were born into the opportunity as well as the responsibility to become legendary. You've been built to achieve masterwork-level projects, designed to realize unusually important pursuits and constructed to be a force for good on this tiny planet. You have it in you to reclaim sovereignty over your pri- mal greatness in a civilization that has become fairly uncivilized. To restore your nobility in a global community where the majority shops for nice shoes and acquires expensive things yet rarely invests in a bet- ter self. Your personal leadership requires-no, demands that you stop being a cyber-zombie relentlessly attracted to digital devices and restructure your life to model mastery, exemplify decency and relin- quish the self-centeredness that keeps good people limited. The great women and men of the world were all givers, not takers. Renounce the common delusion that those who accumulate the most win. Instead, do work that is heroic-that staggers your marketplace by the quality of its originality as well as from the helpfulness it provides. While you do so, my recommendation is that you also create a private life strong in ethics, rich with marvelous beauty and unyielding when it comes to the protection of your inner peace. This, my friends, is how you soar with the angels. And walk alongside the gods." peɪʤ -4 ðəʊ ðə ˈspɛlˌbaɪndə wəz tɔːl, hɪz ədˈvɑːnst jɪəz lɛft ɪm ˈslaɪtli bɛnt ˈəʊvə. əz hi wɔːkt ðə ˈplætfɔːm, hi stɛpt ˈkeəfᵊli jɛt ˈɡreɪsfᵊli. ə prɪˈsaɪsli ˈfɪtɪd ˈʧɑːkəʊl ɡreɪ suːt wɪð sɒft waɪt ˈpɪnstraɪps ɡeɪv ɪm ən ˈɛlɪɡᵊnt lʊk. ənd ə peər əv bluː-ˈtɪntɪd ˈaɪɡlɑːsɪz ˈædɪd ʤəst ðə raɪt əˈmaʊnt əv kuːl. "laɪfs tuː ʃɔːt tə pleɪ smɔːl wɪð jə ˈtælᵊnts," ðə ˈspɛlˌbaɪndə spəʊk tə ðə ruːm əv ˈθaʊzᵊndz. "jʊ wə bɔːn ˈɪntə ði ˌɒpəˈʧuːnəti əz wɛl əz ðə rɪˌspɒnsɪˈbɪləti tə bɪˈkʌm ˈlɛʤᵊndri. juːv biːn bɪlt tu əˈʧiːv masterwork-ˈlɛvᵊl ˈprɒʤɛkts, dɪˈzaɪnd tə ˈrɪəlaɪz ʌnˈjuːʒuəli ɪmˈpɔːtᵊnt pəˈsjuːts ənd kənˈstrʌktɪd tə bi ə fɔːs fə ɡʊd ɒn ðɪs ˈtaɪni ˈplænɪt. jʊ həv ɪt ɪn jʊ tə rɪˈkleɪm ˈsɒvrənti ˈəʊvə jə pri- mæl ˈɡreɪtnəs ɪn ə ˌsɪvᵊlaɪˈzeɪʃᵊn ðət həz bɪˈkʌm ˈfeəli ʌnˈsɪvᵊlaɪzd. tə rɪˈstɔː jə nəʊˈbɪləti ɪn ə ˈɡləʊbᵊl kəˈmjuːnəti weə ðə məˈʤɒrəti ʃɒps fə naɪs ʃuːz ənd əˈkwaɪəz ɪkˈspɛnsɪv θɪŋz jɛt ˈreəli ɪnˈvɛsts ɪn ə bɛt- ter sɛlf. jə ˈpɜːsᵊnᵊl ˈliːdəʃɪp rɪˈkwaɪəz-nəʊ, dɪˈmɑːndz ðət jʊ stɒp ˈbiːɪŋ ə ˈsaɪbə-ˈzɒmbi rɪˈlɛntləsli əˈtræktɪd tə ˈdɪʤɪtᵊl dɪˈvaɪsɪz ənd ˌriːˈstrʌkʧə jə laɪf tə ˈmɒdᵊl ˈmɑːstᵊri, ɪɡˈzɛmplɪfaɪ ˈdiːsᵊnsi ənd relin- quish ðə sɛlf-ˈsɛntədnəs ðət kiːps ɡʊd ˈpiːpᵊl ˈlɪmɪtɪd. ðə ɡreɪt ˈwɪmɪn ənd mɛn əv ðə wɜːld wər ɔːl ˈɡɪvəz, nɒt ˈteɪkəz. rɪˈnaʊns ðə ˈkɒmən dɪˈluːʒᵊn ðət ðəʊz huː əˈkjuːmjəleɪt ðə məʊst wɪn. ɪnˈstɛd, dʊ wɜːk ðət s hɪˈrəʊɪk-ðæt ˈstæɡəz jə ˈmɑːkɪtpleɪs baɪ ðə ˈkwɒləti əv ɪts əˌrɪʤᵊnˈæləti əz wɛl əz frəm ðə ˈhɛlpfᵊlnəs ɪt prəˈvaɪdz. waɪl jʊ dʊ səʊ, maɪ ˌrɛkəmɛnˈdeɪʃᵊn z ðət jʊ ˈɔːlsəʊ kriˈeɪt ə ˈpraɪvət laɪf strɒŋ ɪn ˈɛθɪks, rɪʧ wɪð ˈmɑːvᵊləs ˈbjuːti ənd ʌnˈjiːldɪŋ wɛn ɪt kʌmz tə ðə prəˈtɛkʃᵊn əv jər ˈɪnə piːs. ðɪs, maɪ frɛndz, ɪz haʊ jʊ sɔː wɪð ði ˈeɪnʤᵊlz. ənd wɔːk əˌlɒŋˈsaɪd ðə ɡɒdz."

Page-5 The Spellbinder paused. He drew in a gulp of air, as big as a moun- tain. His breathing grew strained and made a whooshing noise as he inhaled. He looked down at his stylish black boots that had been pol- ished up to a military grade. Those in the front row saw a single tear drizzle down the timeworn yet once-handsome face. His gaze remained downward. His silence was thunderous. The Spellbinder appeared unsteady. After a series of stressful moments that had some in the audience shifting in their seats, The Spellbinder put down the microphone he had been holding in his left hand. With his free hand, he tenderly reached into a pocket of his trousers and pulled out a crisply folded linen hand- kerchief. He wiped his cheek. "Each of you has a call on your lives. Every one of you carries an in- stinct for excellence within your spirits. No one in this room needs to stay frozen in average and succumb to the mass mediocratization of behav ior evident in society along with the collective de-professionalization of business so apparent in industry. Limitation is nothing more than a mentality that too many good people practice daily until they believe it's reality. It breaks my heart to see so many potentially powerful human beings stuck in a story about why they can't be extraordinary, professionally and personally. You need to remember that your excuses are seducers, your fears are liars and your doubts are thieves." Many nodded. A few clapped. Then many more applauded. "I understand you. I really do," continued The Spellbinder. "I know you've had some difficult times in your life. We all have. I get that you might be feeling things haven't turned out the way you thought they would when you were a little kid, full of fire, desire and wonder. You didn't plan on each day looking the same, did you? In a job that might be smothering your soul. Dealing with stressful worries and endless responsibilities that stifle your originality and steal your energy. Lusting after unimportant pursuits and hungry for the instant fulfillment of triv- ial desires, often driven by a technology that enslaves us instead of liber- ating us. Living the same week a few thousand times and calling it a life. peɪʤ-5 ðə ˈspɛlˌbaɪndə pɔːzd. hi druː ɪn ə ɡʌlp əv eə, əz bɪɡ əz ə moun- teɪn. hɪz ˈbriːðɪŋ ɡruː streɪnd ənd meɪd ə ˈwʊʃɪŋ nɔɪz əz hi ɪnˈheɪld. hi lʊkt daʊn ət ɪz ˈstaɪlɪʃ blæk buːts ðət həd biːn pol- ished ʌp tu ə ˈmɪlɪtᵊri ɡreɪd. ðəʊz ɪn ðə frʌnt rəʊ sɔː ə ˈsɪŋɡᵊl teə ˈdrɪzᵊl daʊn ðə ˈtaɪmwɔːn jɛt wʌns-ˈhænsəm feɪs. hɪz ɡeɪz rɪˈmeɪnd ˈdaʊnwəd. hɪz ˈsaɪləns wəz ˈθʌndᵊrəs. ðə ˈspɛlˌbaɪndər əˈpɪəd ʌnˈstɛdi. ˈɑːftər ə ˈsɪəriːz əv ˈstrɛsfᵊl ˈməʊmənts ðət həd səm ɪn ði ˈɔːdiəns ˈʃɪftɪŋ ɪn ðeə siːts, ðə ˈspɛlˌbaɪndə pʊt daʊn ðə ˈmaɪkrəfəʊn hi həd biːn ˈhəʊldɪŋ ɪn ɪz lɛft hænd. wɪð ɪz friː hænd, hi ˈtɛndəli riːʧt ˈɪntə ə ˈpɒkɪt əv ɪz ˈtraʊzəz ənd pʊld aʊt ə ˈkrɪspli ˈfəʊldɪd ˈlɪnɪn hænd- ˈkɜːʧɪf. hi waɪpt ɪz ʧiːk. "iːʧ əv jʊ həz ə kɔːl ɒn jə lɪvz. ˈɛvri wʌn əv jʊ ˈkæriz ən ɪn- stinct fər ˈɛksᵊlᵊns wɪˈðɪn jə ˈspɪrɪts. nəʊ wʌn ɪn ðɪs ruːm niːdz tə steɪ ˈfrəʊzᵊn ɪn ˈævᵊrɪʤ ənd səˈkʌm tə ðə mæs mediocratization əv behav ior ˈɛvɪdᵊnt ɪn səˈsaɪəti əˈlɒŋ wɪð ðə kəˈlɛktɪv diː-professionalization əv ˈbɪznɪs səʊ əˈpærᵊnt ɪn ˈɪndəstri. ˌlɪmɪˈteɪʃᵊn z ˈnʌθɪŋ mɔː ðən ə mɛnˈtæləti ðət tuː ˈmɛni ɡʊd ˈpiːpᵊl ˈpræktɪs ˈdeɪli ənˈtɪl ðeɪ bɪˈliːv ɪts riˈæləti. ɪt breɪks maɪ hɑːt tə siː səʊ ˈmɛni pəˈtɛnʃᵊli ˈpaʊəfᵊl ˈhjuːmən ˈbiːɪŋz stʌk ɪn ə ˈstɔːri əˈbaʊt waɪ ðeɪ kɑːnt bi ɪkˈstrɔːdᵊnᵊri, prəˈfɛʃnəli ənd ˈpɜːsᵊnᵊli. jʊ niːd tə rɪˈmɛmbə ðət jər ɪkˈskjuːzɪz ə sɪˈdjuːsəz, jə fɪəz ə ˈlaɪəz ənd jə daʊts ə θiːvz." ˈmɛni ˈnɒdɪd. ə fjuː klæpt. ðɛn ˈmɛni mɔːr əˈplɔːdɪd. "aɪ ˌʌndəˈstænd juː. aɪ ˈrɪəli duː," kənˈtɪnjuːd ðə ˈspɛlˌbaɪndə. "aɪ nəʊ juːv həd səm ˈdɪfɪkᵊlt taɪmz ɪn jə laɪf. wi ɔːl hæv. aɪ ɡɛt ðət jʊ maɪt bi ˈfiːlɪŋ θɪŋz ˈhævᵊnt tɜːnd aʊt ðə weɪ jʊ θɔːt ðeɪ wəd wɛn jʊ wər ə ˈlɪtᵊl kɪd, fʊl əv faɪə, dɪˈzaɪər ənd ˈwʌndə. jʊ ˈdɪdᵊnt plæn ɒn iːʧ deɪ ˈlʊkɪŋ ðə seɪm, dɪd juː? ɪn ə ʤɒb ðət maɪt bi ˈsmʌðərɪŋ jə səʊl. ˈdiːlɪŋ wɪð ˈstrɛsfᵊl ˈwʌriz ənd ˈɛndləs rɪˌspɒnsɪˈbɪlətiz ðət ˈstaɪfᵊl jər əˌrɪʤᵊnˈæləti ənd stiːl jər ˈɛnəʤi. ˈlʌstɪŋ ˈɑːftər ˌʌnɪmˈpɔːtᵊnt pəˈsjuːts ənd ˈhʌŋɡri fə ði ˈɪnstənt fʊlˈfɪlmənt əv triv- ial dɪˈzaɪəz, ˈɒfᵊn ˈdrɪvᵊn baɪ ə tɛkˈnɒləʤi ðət ɪnˈsleɪvz əs ɪnˈstɛd əv ˈlaɪbə- ating ʌs. ˈlɪvɪŋ ðə seɪm wiːk ə fjuː ˈθaʊzᵊnd taɪmz ənd ˈkɔːlɪŋ ɪt ə laɪf.

Page -6 I need to tell you that too many among us die at thirty and are buried at eighty. So, I do get you. You hoped things would be different. More interesting. More exciting. More fulfilling, special and magical The Spellbinder's voice trembled as he spoke these last words. He struggled to breathe for an instant. A look of concern caused his brow to crinkle. He sat down on a cream-colored chair that had been carefully placed at the side of the stage by one of his assistants. "And, yes, I am aware that there are also many in this room who are currently leading lives you love. You're an epic success in the world, fully on your game and enriching your families and communities with an electricity that borders on otherworldly. Nice work. Bravo. And, yet, you too have experienced seasons where you've been lost in the frigid and dangerous valley of darkness. You, too, have known the collapse of your creative magnificence as well as your productive eminence into a tiny circle of comfortableness, fearfulness and numbness that betrayed the mansions of mastery and reservoirs of bravery inside of you. You, too, have been disappointed by the barren winters of a life weakly lived. You, too, have been denied many of your most inspired childhood dreams. You, too, have been hurt by people you trusted. You, too, have had your ideals destroyed. You, too, have had your innocent heart devastated, leaving your life decimated, like a ruined country after ambitious foreign invaders infiltrated it." The cavernous conference hall was severely still. "No matter where you are on the pathway of your life, please don't let the pain of an imperfect past hinder the glory of your fabulous future. You are so much more powerful than you may currently understand. Splendid victories and outright blessings are coming your way. And you're exactly where you need to be to receive the growth necessary for you to lead the unusually productive, extremely prodigious and exceptionally influential life that you've earned through your harshest trials Nothing is wrong at this moment, even if it feels like everything's falling apart. peɪʤ -6 aɪ niːd tə tɛl jʊ ðət tuː ˈmɛni əˈmʌŋ əs daɪ ət ˈθɜːti ənd ə ˈbɛriɪd ət ˈeɪti. səʊ, aɪ dʊ ɡɛt juː. jʊ həʊpt θɪŋz wəd bi ˈdɪfᵊrᵊnt. mɔːr ˈɪntrɛstɪŋ. mɔːr ɪkˈsaɪtɪŋ. mɔː fʊlˈfɪlɪŋ, ˈspɛʃᵊl ənd ˈmæʤɪkᵊl ðə ˈspɛlˌbaɪndəz vɔɪs ˈtrɛmbᵊld əz hi spəʊk ðiːz lɑːst wɜːdz. hi ˈstrʌɡᵊld tə briːð fər ən ˈɪnstənt. ə lʊk əv kənˈsɜːn kɔːzd ɪz braʊ tə ˈkrɪŋkᵊl. hi sæt daʊn ɒn ə kriːm-ˈkʌləd ʧeə ðət həd biːn ˈkeəfᵊli pleɪst ət ðə saɪd əv ðə steɪʤ baɪ wʌn əv ɪz əˈsɪstᵊnts. "ænd, jɛs, aɪ əm əˈweə ðət ðər ər ˈɔːlsəʊ ˈmɛni ɪn ðɪs ruːm huː ə ˈkʌrᵊntli ˈliːdɪŋ lɪvz jʊ lʌv. jər ən ˈɛpɪk səkˈsɛs ɪn ðə wɜːld, ˈfʊli ɒn jə ɡeɪm ənd ɪnˈrɪʧɪŋ jə ˈfæmɪliz ənd kəˈmjuːnətiz wɪð ən ˌɛlɪkˈtrɪsəti ðət ˈbɔːdəz ɒn ˈʌðəˌwɜːldli. naɪs wɜːk. ˌbrɑːˈvəʊ. ænd, jɛt, jʊ tuː həv ɪkˈspɪəriənst ˈsiːzᵊnz weə juːv biːn lɒst ɪn ðə ˈfrɪʤɪd ənd ˈdeɪnʤᵊrəs ˈvæli əv ˈdɑːknəs. juː, tuː, həv nəʊn ðə kəˈlæps əv jə kriˈeɪtɪv mæɡˈnɪfɪsns əz wɛl əz jə prəˈdʌktɪv ˈɛmɪnəns ˈɪntə ə ˈtaɪni ˈsɜːkᵊl əv ˈkʌmfᵊtəbᵊlnəs, ˈfɪəfᵊlnəs ənd ˈnʌmnəs ðət bɪˈtreɪd ðə ˈmænʃᵊnz əv ˈmɑːstᵊri ənd ˈrɛzəvwɑːz əv ˈbreɪvᵊri ɪnˈsaɪd əv juː. juː, tuː, həv biːn ˌdɪsəˈpɔɪntɪd baɪ ðə ˈbærᵊn ˈwɪntəz əv ə laɪf ˈwiːkli lɪvd. juː, tuː, həv biːn dɪˈnaɪd ˈmɛni əv jə məʊst ɪnˈspaɪəd ˈʧaɪldhʊd driːmz. juː, tuː, həv biːn hɜːt baɪ ˈpiːpᵊl jʊ ˈtrʌstɪd. juː, tuː, həv həd jər aɪˈdɪəlz dɪˈstrɔɪd. juː, tuː, həv həd jər ˈɪnəsᵊnt hɑːt ˈdɛvəsteɪtɪd, ˈliːvɪŋ jə laɪf ˈdɛsɪmeɪtɪd, laɪk ə ˈruːɪnd ˈkʌntri ˈɑːftər æmˈbɪʃəs ˈfɒrən ɪnˈveɪdəz ˈɪnfɪltreɪtɪd ɪt." ðə ˈkævənəs ˈkɒnfᵊrᵊns hɔːl wəz sɪˈvɪəli stɪl. "nəʊ ˈmætə weə jʊ ər ɒn ðə ˈpɑːθweɪ əv jə laɪf, pliːz dəʊnt lɛt ðə peɪn əv ən ɪmˈpɜːfɛkt pɑːst ˈhɪndə ðə ˈɡlɔːri əv jə ˈfæbjələs ˈfjuːʧə. jʊ ə səʊ mʌʧ mɔː ˈpaʊəfᵊl ðən jʊ meɪ ˈkʌrᵊntli ˌʌndəˈstænd. ˈsplɛndɪd ˈvɪktᵊriz ənd ˈaʊtraɪt ˈblɛsɪŋz ə ˈkʌmɪŋ jə weɪ. ənd jər ɪɡˈzæktli weə jʊ niːd tə bi tə rɪˈsiːv ðə ɡrəʊθ ˈnɛsəsᵊri fə jʊ tə liːd ði ʌnˈjuːʒuəli prəˈdʌktɪv, ɪkˈstriːmli prəˈdɪʤəs ənd ɪkˈsɛpʃᵊnᵊli ˌɪnfluˈɛnʃᵊl laɪf ðət juːv ɜːnd θruː jə ˈhɑːʃɪst traɪəlz ˈnʌθɪŋ z rɒŋ ət ðɪs ˈməʊmənt, ˈiːvᵊn ɪf ɪt fiːlz laɪk ˈɛvriθɪŋz ˈfɔːlɪŋ əˈpɑːt.

Page -7 . If you sense your life's a mess right now, this is simply because your fears are just a little stronger than your faith. With practice, you can turn down the volume of the voice of your scared self. And increase the tone of your most triumphant side. The truth is that every challeng- ing event you've experienced, each toxic person that you've encountered and all the trials you've endured have been perfect preparation to make you into the person that you now are. You needed these lessons to acti- vate the treasures, talents and powers that are now awakening within you. Nothing was an accident. Zero was a waste. You're definitely exactly where you need to be to begin the life of your most supreme desires. One that can make you an empire-builder along with a world-changer. And perhaps even a history-maker." "This all sounds easy but it's a lot harder in reality," shouted a man in a red baseball cap, seated in the fifth row. He sported a gray t-shirt and ripped jeans, the type you can buy torn at your local shopping mall. Though this outburst could have seemed disrespectful, the pitch of the participant's voice and his body language displayed genuine admiration for The Spellbinder. "I agree with you, you wonderful human being," responded The Spellbinder, his grace influencing all participants and his voice sound- ing somewhat stronger, as he stood up from his chair. "Ideas are worth nothing unless backed by application. The smallest of implementations is always worth more than the grandest of intentions. And if being an amazing person and developing a legendary life was easy, everyone would be doing it. Know what I mean?" "Sure, dude," replied the man in the red cap as he rubbed his lower lip with a finger. "Society has sold us a series of mistruths," The Spellbinder con- tinued. "That pleasure is preferable to the terrifying yet majestic fact that all possibility requires hard work, regular reinvention and a dedi- cation as deep as the sea to leaving our harbors of safety, daily. peɪʤ -7 . ɪf jʊ sɛns jə laɪfs ə mɛs raɪt naʊ, ðɪs ɪz ˈsɪmpli bɪˈkəz jə fɪəz ə ʤəst ə ˈlɪtᵊl ˈstrɒŋɡə ðən jə feɪθ. wɪð ˈpræktɪs, jʊ kən tɜːn daʊn ðə ˈvɒljuːm əv ðə vɔɪs əv jə skeəd sɛlf. ənd ˈɪnkriːs ðə təʊn əv jə məʊst traɪˈʌmfənt saɪd. ðə truːθ s ðət ˈɛvri challeng- ing ɪˈvɛnt juːv ɪkˈspɪəriənst, iːʧ ˈtɒksɪk ˈpɜːsᵊn ðət juːv ɪnˈkaʊntəd ənd ɔːl ðə traɪəlz juːv ɪnˈdjʊəd həv biːn ˈpɜːfɛkt ˌprɛpᵊrˈeɪʃᵊn tə meɪk jʊ ˈɪntə ðə ˈpɜːsᵊn ðət jʊ naʊ ɑː. jʊ ˈniːdɪd ðiːz ˈlɛsᵊnz tu acti- vate ðə ˈtrɛʒəz, ˈtælᵊnts ənd ˈpaʊəz ðət ə naʊ əˈweɪknɪŋ wɪˈðɪn juː. ˈnʌθɪŋ wəz ən ˈæksɪdᵊnt. ˈzɪərəʊ wəz ə weɪst. jə ˈdɛfɪnɪtli ɪɡˈzæktli weə jʊ niːd tə bi tə bɪˈɡɪn ðə laɪf əv jə məʊst suːˈpriːm dɪˈzaɪəz. wʌn ðət kən meɪk jʊ ən ˈɛmpaɪə-ˈbɪldər əˈlɒŋ wɪð ə wɜːld-ˈʧeɪnʤə. ənd pəˈhæps ˈiːvᵊn ə ˈhɪstᵊri-ˈmeɪkə." "ðɪs ɔːl saʊndz ˈiːzi bət ɪts ə lɒt ˈhɑːdər ɪn riˈæləti," ˈʃaʊtɪd ə mæn ɪn ə rɛd ˈbeɪsbɔːl ˈkæp, ˈsiːtɪd ɪn ðə fɪfθ rəʊ. hi ˈspɔːtɪd ə ɡreɪ ˈtiːʃɜːt ənd rɪpt ʤiːnz, ðə taɪp jʊ kən baɪ tɔːn ət jə ˈləʊkᵊl ˈʃɒpɪŋ mɔːl. ðəʊ ðɪs ˈaʊtbɜːst kəd həv siːmd ˌdɪsrɪˈspɛktfᵊl, ðə pɪʧ əv ðə pɑːˈtɪsɪpᵊnts vɔɪs ənd ɪz ˈbɒdi ˈlæŋɡwɪʤ dɪˈspleɪd ˈʤɛnjuɪn ˌædməˈreɪʃᵊn fə ðə ˈspɛlˌbaɪndə. "aɪ əˈɡriː wɪð juː, jʊ ˈwʌndəfᵊl ˈhjuːmən ˈbiːɪŋ," rɪˈspɒndɪd ðə ˈspɛlˌbaɪndə, hɪz ɡreɪs ˈɪnfluənsɪŋ ɔːl pɑːˈtɪsɪpᵊnts ənd ɪz vɔɪs saʊnd- ing ˈsʌmwɒt ˈstrɒŋɡə, əz hi stʊd ʌp frəm ɪz ʧeə. "aɪˈdɪəz ə wɜːθ ˈnʌθɪŋ ənˈlɛs bækt baɪ ˌæplɪˈkeɪʃᵊn. ðə ˈsmɔːlɪst əv ˌɪmplɪmɛnˈteɪʃᵊnz ɪz ˈɔːlweɪz wɜːθ mɔː ðən ðə ˈɡrɑːndɪst əv ɪnˈtɛnʃᵊnz. ənd ɪf ˈbiːɪŋ ən əˈmeɪzɪŋ ˈpɜːsᵊn ənd dɪˈvɛləpɪŋ ə ˈlɛʤᵊndri laɪf wəz ˈiːzi, ˈɛvriwʌn wəd bi ˈduːɪŋ ɪt. nəʊ wɒt aɪ miːn?" "ʃɔː, djuːd," rɪˈplaɪd ðə mæn ɪn ðə rɛd ˈkæp əz hi rʌbd ɪz ˈləʊə lɪp wɪð ə ˈfɪŋɡə. "səˈsaɪəti həz səʊld əs ə ˈsɪəriːz əv mistruths," ðə ˈspɛlˌbaɪndə kɒn- tinued. "ðæt ˈplɛʒə z ˈprɛfərəbᵊl tə ðə ˈtɛrɪfaɪɪŋ jɛt məˈʤɛstɪk fækt ðət ɔːl ˌpɒsəˈbɪləti rɪˈkwaɪəz hɑːd wɜːk, ˈrɛɡjələ ˌriːɪnˈvɛnʃᵊn ənd ə dedi- ˈkætaɪən əz diːp əz ðə siː tə ˈliːvɪŋ ˈaʊə ˈhɑːbəz əv ˈseɪfti, ˈdeɪli.

Page -8 I believe that the seduction of complacency and an easy life is one hundred times more brutal, ultimately, than a life where you go all in and take an unconquerable stand for your brightest dreams. World-class begins where your comfort zone ends is a rule the successful, the influential and the happiest always remember." The man nodded. Groups of people in the audience were doing the same. "From a young age, we are programmed into thinking that moy ing through life loyal to the values of mastery, ingenuity and decency should need little effort. And so, if the road gets tough and requires some patience, we think we're on the wrong path," commented The Spellbinder as he grasped an arm of the wooden chair and folded his thin frame into the seat again. "We've encouraged a culture of soft, weak and delicate people who can't keep promises, who bail on commitments and who quit on their aspirations the moment the smallest obstacle shows up." The orator then sighed loudly. "Hard is good. Real greatness and the realization of your inherent genius is meant to be a difficult sport. Only those devoted enough to go to the fiery edges of their highest limits will expand them. And the suffering that happens along the journey of materializing your special powers, strongest abilities and most inspiring ambitions is one of the largest sources of human satisfaction. A major key to happiness-and internal peace-is knowing you've done whatever it took to earn your rewards and passionately invested the effortful audacity to become your best. Jazz legend Miles Davis stretched himself ferociously past the nor- mal his field knew to fully exploit his magnificent potential. Michelangelo sacrificed enormously mentally, emotionally, physically and spiritually as he produced his awesome art. Rosa Parks, a simple seamstress with outstanding courage, endured blunt humiliation when she was arrested for not giving up her seat on a segregated bus, igniting the civil rights movement. Charles Darwin demonstrated the kind of resolve that virtuosity demands by studying barnacles-yes, barnacles for eight long years as he formulated his famed Theory of Evolution. peɪʤ -8 aɪ bɪˈliːv ðət ðə sɪˈdʌkʃᵊn əv kəmˈpleɪsᵊnsi ənd ən ˈiːzi laɪf s wʌn ˈhʌndrəd taɪmz mɔː ˈbruːtᵊl, ˈʌltɪmətli, ðən ə laɪf weə jʊ ɡəʊ ɔːl ɪn ənd teɪk ən ʌnˈkɒŋkərəbᵊl stænd fə jə ˈbraɪtɪst driːmz. wɜːld-klɑːs bɪˈɡɪnz weə jə ˈkʌmfət zəʊn ɛndz ɪz ə ruːl ðə səkˈsɛsfᵊl, ði ˌɪnfluˈɛnʃᵊl ənd ðə ˈhæpiɪst ˈɔːlweɪz rɪˈmɛmbə." ðə mæn ˈnɒdɪd. ɡruːps əv ˈpiːpᵊl ɪn ði ˈɔːdiəns wə ˈduːɪŋ ðə seɪm. "frəm ə jʌŋ eɪʤ, wi ə ˈprəʊɡræmd ˈɪntə ˈθɪŋkɪŋ ðət moy ing θruː laɪf ˈlɔɪəl tə ðə ˈvæljuːz əv ˈmɑːstᵊri, ˌɪnʤəˈnjuːəti ənd ˈdiːsᵊnsi ʃəd niːd ˈlɪtᵊl ˈɛfət. ənd səʊ, ɪf ðə rəʊd ɡɛts tʌf ənd rɪˈkwaɪəz səm ˈpeɪʃᵊns, wi θɪŋk wɪər ɒn ðə rɒŋ pɑːθ," ˈkɒmɛntɪd ðə ˈspɛlˌbaɪndər əz hi ɡrɑːspt ən ɑːm əv ðə ˈwʊdᵊn ʧeər ənd ˈfəʊldɪd ɪz θɪn freɪm ˈɪntə ðə siːt əˈɡɛn. "wiːv ɪnˈkʌrɪʤd ə ˈkʌlʧər əv sɒft, wiːk ənd ˈdɛlɪkət ˈpiːpᵊl huː kɑːnt kiːp ˈprɒmɪsɪz, huː beɪl ɒn kəˈmɪtmənts ənd huː kwɪt ɒn ðeər ˌæspəˈreɪʃᵊnz ðə ˈməʊmənt ðə ˈsmɔːlɪst ˈɒbstəkᵊl ʃəʊz ʌp." ði ˈɒrətə ðɛn saɪd ˈlaʊdli. "hɑːd z ɡʊd. rɪəl ˈɡreɪtnəs ənd ðə ˌrɪəlaɪˈzeɪʃᵊn əv jər ɪnˈhɛrᵊnt ˈʤiːniəs ɪz mɛnt tə bi ə ˈdɪfɪkᵊlt spɔːt. ˈəʊnli ðəʊz dɪˈvəʊtɪd ɪˈnʌf tə ɡəʊ tə ðə ˈfaɪəri ˈɛʤɪz əv ðeə ˈhaɪɪst ˈlɪmɪts wɪl ɪkˈspænd ðɛm. ənd ðə ˈsʌfᵊrɪŋ ðət ˈhæpᵊnz əˈlɒŋ ðə ˈʤɜːni əv məˈtɪərɪəlaɪzɪŋ jə ˈspɛʃᵊl ˈpaʊəz, ˈstrɒŋɡɪst əˈbɪlətiz ənd məʊst ɪnˈspaɪərɪŋ æmˈbɪʃᵊnz ɪz wʌn əv ðə ˈlɑːʤɪst ˈsɔːsɪz əv ˈhjuːmən ˌsætɪsˈfækʃᵊn. ə ˈmeɪʤə kiː tə ˈhæpɪnəs-ænd ɪnˈtɜːnᵊl piːs-ɪz ˈnəʊɪŋ juːv dʌn wɒtˈɛvər ɪt tʊk tu ɜːn jə rɪˈwɔːdz ənd ˈpæʃᵊnətli ɪnˈvɛstɪd ði ˈɛfətfᵊl ɔːˈdæsəti tə bɪˈkʌm jə bɛst. ʤæz ˈlɛʤənd maɪlz ˈdeɪvɪs strɛʧt ɪmˈsɛlf fəˈrəʊʃəsli pɑːst ðə nɔː- mæl ɪz fiːld njuː tə ˈfʊli ɪksˈplɔɪt ɪz mæɡˈnɪfɪsᵊnt pəˈtɛnʃᵊl. ˌmaɪkᵊlˈænʤələʊ ˈsækrɪfaɪst ɪˈnɔːməsli ˈmɛntəli, ɪˈməʊʃᵊnᵊli, ˈfɪzɪkᵊli ənd ˈspɪrɪʧuəli əz hi prəˈdjuːst ɪz ˈɔːsəm ɑːt. ˈrəʊzə pɑːks, ə ˈsɪmpᵊl ˈsiːmstrəs wɪð aʊtˈstændɪŋ ˈkʌrɪʤ, ɪnˈdjʊəd blʌnt hjuːˌmɪliˈeɪʃᵊn wɛn ʃi wəz əˈrɛstɪd fə nɒt ˈɡɪvɪŋ ʌp hə siːt ɒn ə ˈsɛɡrɪɡeɪtɪd bʌs, ɪɡˈnaɪtɪŋ ðə ˈsɪvᵊl raɪts ˈmuːvmənt. ʧɑːlz ˈdɑːwɪn ˈdɛmənstreɪtɪd ðə kaɪnd əv rɪˈzɒlv ðət ˌvɜːʧuˈɒsəti dɪˈmɑːndz baɪ ˈstʌdiɪŋ ˈbɑːnəkᵊlz-jɛs, ˈbɑːnəkᵊlz fər eɪt lɒŋ jɪəz əz hi ˈfɔːmjəleɪtɪd ɪz feɪmd ˈθɪəri əv ˌiːvəˈluːʃᵊn.

Page-9 This kind of dedication to the optimization of expertise would now be labeled as 'crazy' by the majority in our modern world that spends huge amounts of their irreplaceable lifetime watching streams of selfies, the breakfasts of virtual friends and violent video games," noted The Spellbinder as he peered around the hall as if committed to looking each of the attendees straight in the eye. "Stephen King worked as a high school writing teacher and in an industrial laundry before selling Carrie, the novel that made him famous," the aging presenter continued. "Oh, and please know that King was so discouraged by the rejections and denials that he threw the manuscript he wrote in his rundown trailer into the garbage, surrendering to the struggle. It was only when his wife, Tabitha, discovered the work while her husband was away, wiped off his cigarette ashes, read the book and then told its author that it was brilliant that King submitted it for publi- cation. Even then, his advance for hardcover rights was a paltry twenty- five hundred dollars." "Are you serious?" murmured a woman seated near the stage. She wore a lush green hat with a big scarlet feather sticking out of it and was clearly content with marching to her own drumbeat. "I am," said The Spellbinder. "And while Vincent van Gogh created nine hundred paintings and over one thousand drawings in his lifetime, his celebrity started after his death. His drive to produce wasn't inspired by the ego fuel of popular applause but by a wiser instinct that enticed him to see just how much of his creative power he could unlock, no matter how much hardship he had to endure. Becoming legendary is never easy. But I'd prefer that journey to the heartbreak of being stuck in ordinary that so many potentially heroic people deal with constantly," articulated The Spellbinder firmly peɪʤ-9 ðɪs kaɪnd əv ˌdɛdɪˈkeɪʃᵊn tə ði ˌɒptɪmaɪˈzeɪʃᵊn əv ˌɛkspɜːˈtiːz wəd naʊ bi ˈleɪbᵊld əz ˈkreɪzi baɪ ðə məˈʤɒrəti ɪn ˈaʊə ˈmɒdᵊn wɜːld ðət spɛndz hjuːʤ əˈmaʊnts əv ðeər ˌɪrɪˈpleɪsəbᵊl ˈlaɪftaɪm ˈwɒʧɪŋ striːmz əv ˈsɛlfiz, ðə ˈbrɛkfəsts əv ˈvɜːʧuəl frɛndz ənd ˈvaɪəlᵊnt ˈvɪdiəʊ ɡeɪmz," ˈnəʊtɪd ðə ˈspɛlˌbaɪndər əz hi pɪəd əˈraʊnd ðə hɔːl əz ɪf kəˈmɪtɪd tə ˈlʊkɪŋ iːʧ əv ði ətɛnˈdiːz streɪt ɪn ði aɪ. "ˈstiːvn kɪŋ wɜːkt əz ə haɪ skuːl ˈraɪtɪŋ ˈtiːʧər ənd ɪn ən ɪnˈdʌstriəl ˈlɔːndri bɪˈfɔː ˈsɛlɪŋ ˈkæri, ðə ˈnɒvᵊl ðət meɪd ɪm ˈfeɪməs," ði ˈeɪʤɪŋ prɪˈzɛntə kənˈtɪnjuːd. "əʊ, ənd pliːz nəʊ ðət kɪŋ wəz səʊ dɪˈskʌrɪʤd baɪ ðə rɪˈʤɛkʃᵊnz ənd dɪˈnaɪəlz ðət hi θruː ðə ˈmænjəskrɪpt hi rəʊt ɪn ɪz ˈrʌndaʊn ˈtreɪlər ˈɪntə ðə ˈɡɑːbɪʤ, səˈrɛndərɪŋ tə ðə ˈstrʌɡᵊl. ɪt wəz ˈəʊnli wɛn ɪz waɪf, Tabitha, dɪˈskʌvəd ðə wɜːk waɪl hə ˈhʌzbənd wəz əˈweɪ, waɪpt ɒf ɪz ˌsɪɡᵊrˈɛt ˈæʃɪz, riːd ðə bʊk ənd ðɛn təʊld ɪts ˈɔːθə ðət ɪt wəz ˈbrɪljənt ðət kɪŋ səbˈmɪtɪd ɪt fə publi- ˈkætaɪən. ˈiːvᵊn ðɛn, hɪz ədˈvɑːns fə ˈhɑːdˌkʌvə raɪts wəz ə ˈpɔːltri ˈtwɛnti- faɪv ˈhʌndrəd ˈdɒləz." "ɑː jʊ ˈsɪəriəs?" ˈmɜːməd ə ˈwʊmən ˈsiːtɪd nɪə ðə steɪʤ. ʃi wɔːr ə lʌʃ ɡriːn hæt wɪð ə bɪɡ ˈskɑːlɪt ˈfɛðə ˈstɪkɪŋ aʊt əv ɪt ənd wəz ˈklɪəli ˈkɒntɛnt wɪð ˈmɑːʧɪŋ tə hər əʊn ˈdrʌmbiːt. "aɪ æm," sɛd ðə ˈspɛlˌbaɪndə. "ənd waɪl ˈvɪnsᵊnt væn ɡəʊ kriˈeɪtɪd naɪn ˈhʌndrəd ˈpeɪntɪŋz ənd ˈəʊvə wʌn ˈθaʊzᵊnd ˈdrɔːɪŋz ɪn ɪz ˈlaɪftaɪm, hɪz səˈlɛbrəti ˈstɑːtɪd ˈɑːftə hɪz dɛθ. hɪz draɪv tə prəˈdjuːs ˈwɒzᵊnt ɪnˈspaɪəd baɪ ði ˈiːɡəʊ ˈfjuːəl əv ˈpɒpjələr əˈplɔːz bət baɪ ə ˈwaɪzər ˈɪnstɪŋkt ðət ɪnˈtaɪst ɪm tə siː ʤəst haʊ mʌʧ əv ɪz kriˈeɪtɪv ˈpaʊə hi kəd ʌnˈlɒk, nəʊ ˈmætə haʊ mʌʧ ˈhɑːdʃɪp hi həd tu ɪnˈdjʊə. bɪˈkʌmɪŋ ˈlɛʤᵊndri z ˈnɛvər ˈiːzi. bət aɪd priˈfɜː ðət ˈʤɜːni tə ðə ˈhɑːtbreɪk əv ˈbiːɪŋ stʌk ɪn ˈɔːdᵊnᵊri ðət səʊ ˈmɛni pəˈtɛnʃᵊli hɪˈrəʊɪk ˈpiːpᵊl diːl wɪð ˈkɒnstᵊntli," ɑːˈtɪkjəleɪtɪd ðə ˈspɛlˌbaɪndə ˈfɜːmli.

Page-10 "Anyway, let me simply say that the place where your greatest dis- comfort lies is also the spot where your largest opportunity lives. The beliefs that disturb you, the feelings that threaten you, the projects that unnerve you and the unfoldments of your talents that the insecure part toward these doorways into your bigness as a creative producer, seeker of personal freedom and possibilitarian. And then embrace these beliefs, feelings and projects quickly instead of are thong your life in a way that's designed to dismiss them. Walking into the very things that scare you is how you reclaim your forgotten power. And how you get back the innocence and awe you lost after childhood" Suddenly, The Spellbinder started to cough. Mildly at first. Then violently, like he'd been possessed by a demon hell bent on revenge. In the wings, a man in a black suit with an aggressive crew cut spoke into a mouthpiece tucked discreetly into his shirt cuff. The lights began to flicker, then dim. A few audience members who were located near the platform stood, unsure of what to do. A uniquely pretty woman with her hair in a crisp bun, a clenched smile and a tight black dress with an embroidered white collar rushed up the metal staircase that The Spellbinder had ascended at the beginning of his talk. She carried a phone in one hand and a well-worn notebook in another. Her red high heels made a "click clack, click clack" sound as she raced toward her employer. Yet, the woman was too late. The Spellbinder crumpled to the floor like a punch-drunk boxer with a large heart but weak skills in the final round of a once-glorious career that he should have ended many years earlier. The old presenter lay still. A tiny river of blood escaped from a cut to his head, sustained on his fall. His glasses sat next to him. The handkerchief was still in his hand. His once-sparkling eyes remained closed. peɪʤ-10 "ˈɛniweɪ, lɛt mi ˈsɪmpli seɪ ðət ðə pleɪs weə jə ˈɡreɪtɪst dɪs- ˈkʌmfət laɪz ɪz ˈɔːlsəʊ ðə spɒt weə jə ˈlɑːʤɪst ˌɒpəˈʧuːnəti lɪvz. ðə bɪˈliːfs ðət dɪˈstɜːb juː, ðə ˈfiːlɪŋz ðət ˈθrɛtᵊn juː, ðə ˈprɒʤɛkts ðət ʌnˈnɜːv jʊ ənd ði ʌnˈfəʊldmənts əv jə ˈtælᵊnts ðət ði ˌɪnsɪˈkjʊə pɑːt təˈwɔːd ðiːz ˈdɔːweɪz ˈɪntə jə ˈbɪɡnəs əz ə kriˈeɪtɪv prəˈdjuːsə, ˈsiːkər əv ˈpɜːsᵊnᵊl ˈfriːdəm ənd possibilitarian. ənd ðɛn ɪmˈbreɪs ðiːz bɪˈliːfs, ˈfiːlɪŋz ənd ˈprɒʤɛkts ˈkwɪkli ɪnˈstɛd əv ə θɒŋ jə laɪf ɪn ə weɪ ðæts dɪˈzaɪnd tə dɪˈsmɪs ðɛm. ˈwɔːkɪŋ ˈɪntə ðə ˈvɛri θɪŋz ðət skeə jʊ z haʊ jʊ rɪˈkleɪm jə fəˈɡɒtᵊn ˈpaʊə. ənd haʊ jʊ ɡɛt bæk ði ˈɪnəsᵊns ənd ɔː jʊ lɒst ˈɑːftə ˈʧaɪldhʊd" ˈsʌdᵊnli, ðə ˈspɛlˌbaɪndə ˈstɑːtɪd tə kɒf. ˈmaɪldli ət fɜːst. ðɛn ˈvaɪəlᵊntli, laɪk hiːd biːn pəˈzɛst baɪ ə ˈdiːmən hɛl bɛnt ɒn rɪˈvɛnʤ. ɪn ðə wɪŋz, ə mæn ɪn ə blæk suːt wɪð ən əˈɡrɛsɪv kruː kʌt spəʊk ˈɪntə ə ˈmaʊθpiːs tʌkt dɪˈskriːtli ˈɪntə ɪz ʃɜːt kʌf. ðə laɪts bɪˈɡæn tə ˈflɪkə, ðɛn dɪm. ə fjuː ˈɔːdiəns ˈmɛmbəz huː wə ləʊˈkeɪtɪd nɪə ðə ˈplætfɔːm stʊd, ʌnˈʃɔːr əv wɒt tə duː. ə juːˈniːkli ˈprɪti ˈwʊmən wɪð hə heər ɪn ə krɪsp bʌn, ə klɛnʧt smaɪl ənd ə taɪt blæk drɛs wɪð ən ɪmˈbrɔɪdəd waɪt ˈkɒlə rʌʃt ʌp ðə ˈmɛtᵊl ˈsteəkeɪs ðət ðə ˈspɛlˌbaɪndə həd əˈsɛndɪd ət ðə bɪˈɡɪnɪŋ əv ɪz tɔːk. ʃi ˈkæriɪd ə fəʊn ɪn wʌn hænd ənd ə wɛl-wɔːn ˈnəʊtbʊk ɪn əˈnʌðə. hə rɛd haɪ hiːlz meɪd eɪ "klɪk klæk, klɪk klæk" saʊnd əz ʃi reɪst təˈwɔːd hər ɪmˈplɔɪə. jɛt, ðə ˈwʊmən wəz tuː leɪt. ðə ˈspɛlˌbaɪndə ˈkrʌmpᵊld tə ðə flɔː laɪk ə pʌnʧ-drʌŋk ˈbɒksə wɪð ə lɑːʤ hɑːt bət wiːk skɪlz ɪn ðə ˈfaɪnᵊl raʊnd əv ə wʌns-ˈɡlɔːriəs kəˈrɪə ðət hi ʃəd həv ˈɛndɪd ˈmɛni jɪəz ˈɜːliə. ði əʊld prɪˈzɛntə leɪ stɪl. ə ˈtaɪni ˈrɪvər əv blʌd ɪˈskeɪpt frəm ə kʌt tə ɪz hɛd, səˈsteɪnd ɒn ɪz fɔːl. hɪz ˈɡlɑːsɪz sæt nɛkst tə hɪm. ðə ˈhæŋkəʧiːf wəz stɪl ɪn ɪz hænd. hɪz wʌns-ˈspɑːklɪŋ aɪz rɪˈmeɪnd kləʊzd.

Page -11 CHAPTER 3 An Unexpected Encounter with a Surprising Stranger "Do not live as if you have ten thousand years left. Your fate hangs over you While you are still living, while you still exist on this Earth, strive to become a genuinely great person." -Marcus Aurelius, Roman emperor The entrepreneur lied to the people she met at the seminar, telling them she was in the room to learn The Spellbinder's fabulous formu- las for exponential productivity as well as to discover the neuroscience beneath personal mastery that he had been sharing with leaders of industry. She mused that her expectation was that the guru's method- ology would give her an unmatchable edge over her firm's competition, allowing the business to swiftly scale toward indisputable dominance. You know the real reason she was there: she needed her hope restored. And her life saved. The artist had come to the event to understand how to fuel his crea- tivity and multiply his capability so he could make an enduring mark on his field by the paintings he generated.And the homeless man appeared to have sneaked into the conference hall while no one was watching.The entrepreneur and the artist had been seated together. This was the first time they'd met. peɪʤ -11 ˈʧæptə 3 ən ˌʌnɪkˈspɛktɪd ɪnˈkaʊntə wɪð ə səˈpraɪzɪŋ ˈstreɪnʤə "dʊ nɒt lɪv əz ɪf jʊ həv tɛn ˈθaʊzᵊnd jɪəz lɛft. jə feɪt hæŋz ˈəʊvə jʊ waɪl jʊ ə stɪl ˈlɪvɪŋ, waɪl jʊ stɪl ɪɡˈzɪst ɒn ðɪs ɜːθ, straɪv tə bɪˈkʌm ə ˈʤɛnjuɪnli ɡreɪt ˈpɜːsᵊn." -ˈmɑːkəs ɔːˈriːliəs, ˈrəʊmən ˈɛmpᵊrə ði ˌɒntrəprəˈnɜː laɪd tə ðə ˈpiːpᵊl ʃi mɛt ət ðə ˈsɛmɪnɑː, ˈtɛlɪŋ ðəm ʃi wəz ɪn ðə ruːm tə lɜːn ðə ˈspɛlˌbaɪndəz ˈfæbjələs formu- læs fər ˌɛkspəˈnɛnʃᵊl ˌprɒdʌkˈtɪvəti əz wɛl əz tə dɪˈskʌvə ðə ˌnjʊərəʊˈsaɪəns bɪˈniːθ ˈpɜːsᵊnᵊl ˈmɑːstᵊri ðət hi həd biːn ˈʃeərɪŋ wɪð ˈliːdəz əv ˈɪndəstri. ʃi mjuːzd ðət hər ˌɛkspɛkˈteɪʃᵊn wəz ðət ðə ˈɡʊruːz ˈmɛθəd- ology wəd ɡɪv hər ən ˌʌnˈmæʧəbᵊl ɛʤ ˈəʊvə hə fɜːmz ˌkɒmpəˈtɪʃᵊn, əˈlaʊɪŋ ðə ˈbɪznɪs tə ˈswɪftli skeɪl təˈwɔːd ˌɪndɪˈspjuːtəbᵊl ˈdɒmɪnəns. jʊ nəʊ ðə rɪəl ˈriːzᵊn ʃi wəz ðeə: ʃi ˈniːdɪd hə həʊp rɪˈstɔːd. ənd hə laɪf seɪvd. ði ˈɑːtɪst həd kʌm tə ði ɪˈvɛnt tu ˌʌndəˈstænd haʊ tə ˈfjuːəl ɪz crea- tivity ənd ˈmʌltɪplaɪ ɪz ˌkeɪpəˈbɪləti səʊ hi kəd meɪk ən ɪnˈdjʊərɪŋ mɑːk ɒn ɪz fiːld baɪ ðə ˈpeɪntɪŋz hi ˈʤɛnəreɪtɪd.ənd ðə ˈhəʊmləs mæn əˈpɪəd tə həv sniːkt ˈɪntə ðə ˈkɒnfᵊrᵊns hɔːl waɪl nəʊ wʌn wəz ˈwɒʧɪŋ.ði ˌɒntrəprəˈnɜːr ənd ði ˈɑːtɪst həd biːn ˈsiːtɪd təˈɡɛðə. ðɪs wəz ðə fɜːst taɪm ðeɪd mɛt.

Page-12 Do you think he's dead?" she asked as the artist fidgeted with his dangling Bob Marley dreadlocks. The entrepreneur's face was angular and long. A wealth of wrinkles and weighty crevices ran along her forehead like ruts in a farmer's fresh field. Her brown hair was medium in length and styled in an "I mean business and dare not mess with me" kind of a way. She was lean, like a long-distance runner, with thin arms and lithe legs that emerged from a sensible blue designer skirt. Her eyes looked sad, from old hurts that had never been healed. And from the current chaos that was infecting her beloved company. "Not sure. He's old. He fell hard. God, that was wild. Never seen any- thing like it," the artist said anxiously as he tugged on an earring. "I'm new to his work. I'm not into this sort of thing," the entrepreneur explained. She stayed seated, her arms folded over a cream-colored blouse with a colossal floppy black bow tie perched fashionably at the neckline. "But I liked a lot of his information on productivity in this era of devices destroying our focus and our ability to think deeply. His words made me realize I have to guard my cognitive assets in a far better way," she carried on, fairly formally. She had no real interest in sharing what she was going through, and she obviously wanted to protect her facade of an illustrious businesswoman ready to rise to the next level. "Yeah, he's def hip," said the artist, looking nervous. "He's helped me so much. Can't believe what just went down. Surreal, right?" He was a painter. Because he wanted to elevate his craft as well as improve his personal life, he followed The Spellbinder's work. But, for whatever reason, the demons within him seemed to hold power over his greater nature. So, he'd inevitably sabotage his Herculean ambitions and wonderfully original ideas. The artist was heavy. A goatee jutted out from under his chin. He wore a black t-shirt and long black shorts that fell below his knobby knees. Black boots with rubber soles, the kind you may have seen Australians wear, completed the creative uniform. peɪʤ-12 dʊ jʊ θɪŋk hiːz dɛd?" ʃi ɑːskt əz ði ˈɑːtɪst ˈfɪʤɪtɪd wɪð ɪz ˈdæŋɡlɪŋ bɒb ˈmɑːli ˈdrɛdˌlɒks. ði ˌɒntrəprəˈnɜːz feɪs wəz ˈæŋɡjələr ənd lɒŋ. ə wɛlθ əv ˈrɪŋkᵊlz ənd ˈweɪti ˈkrɛvɪsɪz ræn əˈlɒŋ hə ˈfɒrɪd laɪk rʌts ɪn ə ˈfɑːməz frɛʃ fiːld. hə braʊn heə wəz ˈmiːdiəm ɪn lɛŋθ ənd staɪld ɪn æn "aɪ miːn ˈbɪznɪs ənd deə nɒt mɛs wɪð miː" kaɪnd əv ə weɪ. ʃi wəz liːn, laɪk ə ˌlɒŋˈdɪstᵊns ˈrʌnə, wɪð θɪn ɑːmz ənd laɪð lɛɡz ðət ɪˈmɜːʤd frəm ə ˈsɛnsəbᵊl bluː dɪˈzaɪnə skɜːt. hər aɪz lʊkt sæd, frəm əʊld hɜːts ðət həd ˈnɛvə biːn hiːld. ənd frəm ðə ˈkʌrᵊnt ˈkeɪɒs ðət wəz ɪnˈfɛktɪŋ hə bɪˈlʌvɪd ˈkʌmpəni. "nɒt ʃɔː. hiːz əʊld. hi fɛl hɑːd. ɡɒd, ðæt wəz waɪld. ˈnɛvə siːn ˈɛni- θɪŋ laɪk ɪt," ði ˈɑːtɪst sɛd ˈæŋkʃəsli əz hi tʌɡd ɒn ən ˈɪəˌrɪŋ. "aɪm njuː tə ɪz wɜːk. aɪm nɒt ˈɪntə ðɪs sɔːt əv θɪŋ," ði ˌɒntrəprəˈnɜːr ɪkˈspleɪnd. ʃi steɪd ˈsiːtɪd, hər ɑːmz ˈfəʊldɪd ˈəʊvər ə kriːm-ˈkʌləd blaʊz wɪð ə kəˈlɒsᵊl ˈflɒpi blæk bəʊ taɪ pɜːʧt ˈfæʃᵊnəbᵊli ət ðə ˈnɛkˌlaɪn. "bət aɪ laɪkt ə lɒt əv ɪz ˌɪnfəˈmeɪʃᵊn ɒn ˌprɒdʌkˈtɪvəti ɪn ðɪs ˈɪərə əv dɪˈvaɪsɪz dɪˈstrɔɪɪŋ ˈaʊə ˈfəʊkəs ənd ˈaʊər əˈbɪləti tə θɪŋk ˈdiːpli. hɪz wɜːdz meɪd mi ˈrɪəlaɪz aɪ həv tə ɡɑːd maɪ ˈkɒɡnɪtɪv ˈæsɛts ɪn ə fɑː ˈbɛtə weɪ," ʃi ˈkæriɪd ɒn, ˈfeəli ˈfɔːmᵊli. ʃi həd nəʊ rɪəl ˈɪntrɛst ɪn ˈʃeərɪŋ wɒt ʃi wəz ˈɡəʊɪŋ θruː, ənd ʃi ˈɒbviəsli ˈwɒntɪd tə prəˈtɛkt hə fəˈsɑːd əv ən ɪˈlʌstriəs ˈbɪznɪswʊmən ˈrɛdi tə raɪz tə ðə nɛkst ˈlɛvᵊl. "jeə, hiːz dɛf hɪp," sɛd ði ˈɑːtɪst, ˈlʊkɪŋ ˈnɜːvəs. "hiːz hɛlpt mi səʊ mʌʧ. kɑːnt bɪˈliːv wɒt ʤəst wɛnt daʊn. səˈrɪəl, raɪt?" hi wəz ə ˈpeɪntə. bɪˈkəz hi ˈwɒntɪd tu ˈɛlɪveɪt ɪz krɑːft əz wɛl əz ɪmˈpruːv ɪz ˈpɜːsᵊnᵊl laɪf, hi ˈfɒləʊd ðə ˈspɛlˌbaɪndəz wɜːk. bʌt, fə wɒtˈɛvə ˈriːzᵊn, ðə ˈdiːmənz wɪˈðɪn ɪm siːmd tə həʊld ˈpaʊər ˈəʊvə hɪz ˈɡreɪtə ˈneɪʧə. səʊ, hiːd ɪˈnɛvɪtəbᵊli ˈsæbətɑːʒ ɪz ˌhɜːkjəˈliːən æmˈbɪʃᵊnz ənd ˈwʌndəfᵊli əˈrɪʤᵊnᵊl aɪˈdɪəz. ði ˈɑːtɪst wəz ˈhɛvi. ə ɡəʊˈtiː ˈʤʌtɪd aʊt frəm ˈʌndə hɪz ʧɪn. hi wɔːr ə blæk ˈtiːʃɜːt ənd lɒŋ blæk ʃɔːts ðət fɛl bɪˈləʊ ɪz ˈnɒbi niːz. blæk buːts wɪð ˈrʌbə səʊlz, ðə kaɪnd jʊ meɪ həv siːn ɒsˈtreɪliənz weə, kəmˈpliːtɪd ðə kriˈeɪtɪv ˈjuːnɪfɔːm.

Page -13 A fascinating cascade of tattoos rolled down both arms and across his left leg. One said, "Rich People Are Fakers." Another stole a line from Salvador Dalí, the famed Spanish artist. It read simply, "I don't do drugs. I am drugs." "Hi, guys," the homeless man spoke inappropriately loudly from a few rows behind the entrepreneur and the artist. The auditorium was still emptying, and the audiovisual crew was noisily tearing down the staging. Event staff swept the floor. A Nightmares on Wax song played soothingly in the background. The two new acquaintances turned around to see a tangled mess of wild-person hair, a face that looked like it hadn't been shaved in decades and a tattered arrangement of terrifically stained clothing."Yes?" asked the entrepreneur in a tone as cold as an ice cube in the Arctic. "Can I help you?" "Hey, brother, what's up?" offered the artist, more compassionately. The homeless man got up, shuffled over and sat next to the two. "Do you think the guru's croaked?" he asked as he picked at a scab on one of his wrists."Not sure," the artist replied as he twirled another dreadlock. "Hope not." "Did you guys like the seminar? You into what the old-timer said?" continued the scruffy stranger."Def," said the artist. "I love his work. I have a hard time living it all, but what he says is profound. And powerful.""I'm not so sure," the entrepreneur said cynically. "I like a lot of what I heard today, but I'm still not convinced on some other things. I'll need some time to process it all." "Well, I think he's numero uno," stated the homeless man with a burp. "I made my fortune thanks to the teachings of The Spellbinder. And have enjoyed a pretty world-class life because of him, too. Most people wish for phenomenal things to happen to them. He taught me that exceptional performers make phenomenal things happen to them. .peɪʤ -13 ə ˈfæsᵊneɪtɪŋ kæsˈkeɪd əv təˈtuːz rəʊld daʊn bəʊθ ɑːmz ənd əˈkrɒs ɪz lɛft lɛɡ. wʌn sɛd, "rɪʧ ˈpiːpᵊl ə ˈfeɪkəz." əˈnʌðə stəʊl ə laɪn frəm ˈsælvəˌdɔː Dalí, ðə feɪmd ˈspænɪʃ ˈɑːtɪst. ɪt riːd ˈsɪmpli, "aɪ dəʊnt dʊ drʌɡz. aɪ əm drʌɡz." "haɪ, ɡaɪz," ðə ˈhəʊmləs mæn spəʊk ˌɪnəˈprəʊpriətli ˈlaʊdli frəm ə fjuː rəʊz bɪˈhaɪnd ði ˌɒntrəprəˈnɜːr ənd ði ˈɑːtɪst. ði ˌɔːdɪˈtɔːriəm wəz stɪl ˈɛmptiɪŋ, ənd ði ˌɔːdiəʊˈvɪʒuəl kruː wəz ˈnɔɪzɪli ˈteərɪŋ daʊn ðə ˈsteɪʤɪŋ. ɪˈvɛnt stɑːf swɛpt ðə flɔː. ə ˈnaɪtmeəz ɒn wæks sɒŋ pleɪd ˈsuːðɪŋli ɪn ðə ˈbækɡraʊnd. ðə tuː njuː əˈkweɪntᵊnsɪz tɜːnd əˈraʊnd tə siː ə ˈtæŋɡᵊld mɛs əv waɪld-ˈpɜːsᵊn heə, ə feɪs ðət lʊkt laɪk ɪt ˈhædᵊnt biːn ʃeɪvd ɪn ˈdɛkeɪdz ənd ə ˈtætəd əˈreɪnʤmənt əv təˈrɪfɪkᵊli steɪnd ˈkləʊðɪŋ."jɛs?" ɑːskt ði ˌɒntrəprəˈnɜːr ɪn ə təʊn əz kəʊld əz ən aɪs kjuːb ɪn ði ˈɑːktɪk. "kən aɪ hɛlp juː?" "heɪ, ˈbrʌðə, wɒts ʌp?" ˈɒfəd ði ˈɑːtɪst, mɔː kəmˈpæʃᵊnətli. ðə ˈhəʊmləs mæn ɡɒt ʌp, ˈʃʌfᵊld ˈəʊvər ənd sæt nɛkst tə ðə tuː. "dʊ jʊ θɪŋk ðə ˈɡʊruːz krəʊkt?" hi ɑːskt əz hi pɪkt ət ə skæb ɒn wʌn əv ɪz rɪsts."nɒt ʃɔː," ði ˈɑːtɪst rɪˈplaɪd əz hi twɜːld əˈnʌðə dreadlock. "həʊp nɒt." "dɪd jʊ ɡaɪz laɪk ðə ˈsɛmɪnɑː? jʊ ˈɪntə wɒt ði əʊld-ˈtaɪmə sɛd?" kənˈtɪnjuːd ðə ˈskrʌfi ˈstreɪnʤə."dɛf," sɛd ði ˈɑːtɪst. "aɪ lʌv ɪz wɜːk. aɪ həv ə hɑːd taɪm ˈlɪvɪŋ ɪt ɔːl, bət wɒt hi sɛz ɪz prəˈfaʊnd. ənd ˈpaʊəfᵊl.""aɪm nɒt səʊ ʃɔː," ði ˌɒntrəprəˈnɜː sɛd ˈsɪnɪkᵊli. "aɪ laɪk ə lɒt əv wɒt aɪ hɜːd təˈdeɪ, bət aɪm stɪl nɒt kənˈvɪnst ɒn səm ˈʌðə θɪŋz. aɪl niːd səm taɪm tə ˈprəʊsɛs ɪt ɔːl." "wɛl, aɪ θɪŋk hiːz numero uno," ˈsteɪtɪd ðə ˈhəʊmləs mæn wɪð ə bɜːp. "aɪ meɪd maɪ ˈfɔːʧuːn θæŋks tə ðə ˈtiːʧɪŋz əv ðə ˈspɛlˌbaɪndə. ənd həv ɪnˈʤɔɪd ə ˈprɪti wɜːld-klɑːs laɪf bɪˈkəz əv hɪm, tuː. məʊst ˈpiːpᵊl wɪʃ fə fəˈnɒmɪnᵊl θɪŋz tə ˈhæpᵊn tə ðɛm. hi tɔːt mi ðət excep- tional pəˈfɔːməz meɪk fəˈnɒmɪnᵊl θɪŋz ˈhæpᵊn tə ðɛm.

Page-14 And the great thing is, he not only gave me a secret philosophy to get my big dreams done but he taught me the technology-the tactics and tools- to translate the information into results. His revolutionary insights on how to install a fiercely productive morning routine alone transformed the impact I've had on my marketplace." A jagged scar ran along the homeless man's forehead, just above his right eye. His threatening beard was gray. Around his neck he sported a beaded necklace, like the ones Indian holy men wear at their temples. Though his hyperbole made him sound unstable and his visage made it appear that he'd lived on the streets for many years, his voice displayed an irregular sense of authority. And his eyes revealed the confidence of a lion. "Total crackpot," the entrepreneur whispered to the artist. "Ifhe's got a fortune, I'm Mother Teresa." "Got you. He seems insane," the artist replied. "But check out his humungous watch." On the left wrist of the homeless man, who seemed to be in his late sixties, was one of those massive timepieces that British hedge fund man- agers are prone to wear when they go out to dinner in Mayfair. It had a dial the color of a revolver surrounded by a stainless-steel rim, a red needle- thin hour hand and a sunset orange minute hand. This noteworthy badge of honor was united with a wide black rubber strap, lending a diver-like feel to the whole luxurious look. "A hundred grand, easily," said the entrepreneur discreetly. "Some of the people at my shop bought watches like that the day after our IPO. Unfortunately, our share price plummeted. But they kept their damn timepieces." "So, what part of The Spellbinder's talk did you cats like best?" the vagabond asked, still scratching his wrist. "Was it all the stuff about the psychology of genius that he started out with? Or maybe those incred- ible models he taught on the productivity hacks of billionaires that he jammed on in the middle? Maybe you were stoked by all the neuro- biology that creates top performance. peɪʤ-14 ənd ðə ɡreɪt θɪŋ ɪz, hi nɒt ˈəʊnli ɡeɪv mi ə ˈsiːkrət fɪˈlɒsəfi tə ɡɛt maɪ bɪɡ driːmz dʌn bət hi tɔːt mi ðə tɛkˈnɒləʤi-ðiː ˈtæktɪks ənd tuːlz- tə trænzˈleɪt ði ˌɪnfəˈmeɪʃᵊn ˈɪntə rɪˈzʌlts. hɪz ˌrɛvəˈluːʃᵊnᵊri ˈɪnsaɪts ɒn haʊ tu ɪnˈstɔːl ə ˈfɪəsli prəˈdʌktɪv ˈmɔːnɪŋ ruːˈtiːn əˈləʊn trænsˈfɔːmd ði ˈɪmpækt aɪv həd ɒn maɪ ˈmɑːkɪtpleɪs." ə ʤæɡd skɑː ræn əˈlɒŋ ðə ˈhəʊmləs mænz ˈfɒrɪd, ʤəst əˈbʌv ɪz raɪt aɪ. hɪz ˈθrɛtᵊnɪŋ bɪəd wəz ɡreɪ. əˈraʊnd ɪz nɛk hi ˈspɔːtɪd ə ˈbiːdɪd ˈnɛkləs, laɪk ðə wʌnz ˈɪndiən ˈhəʊli mɛn weər ət ðeə ˈtɛmpᵊlz. ðəʊ ɪz haɪˈpɜːbᵊli meɪd ɪm saʊnd ʌnˈsteɪbᵊl ənd ɪz ˈvɪzɪʤ meɪd ɪt əˈpɪə ðət hiːd lɪvd ɒn ðə striːts fə ˈmɛni jɪəz, hɪz vɔɪs dɪˈspleɪd ən ɪˈrɛɡjələ sɛns əv ɔːˈθɒrəti. ənd ɪz aɪz rɪˈviːld ðə ˈkɒnfɪdᵊns əv ə ˈlaɪən. "ˈtəʊtᵊl ˈkrækpɒt," ði ˌɒntrəprəˈnɜː ˈwɪspəd tə ði ˈɑːtɪst. "Ifhe's ɡɒt ə ˈfɔːʧuːn, aɪm ˈmʌðə təˈreɪzə." "ɡɒt juː. hi siːmz ɪnˈseɪn," ði ˈɑːtɪst rɪˈplaɪd. "bət ʧɛk aʊt ɪz humungous wɒʧ." ɒn ðə lɛft rɪst əv ðə ˈhəʊmləs mæn, huː siːmd tə bi ɪn ɪz leɪt ˈsɪkstɪz, wəz wʌn əv ðəʊz ˈmæsɪv ˈtaɪmpiːsɪz ðət ˈbrɪtɪʃ hɛʤ fʌnd mæn- ˈeɪʤəz ə prəʊn tə weə wɛn ðeɪ ɡəʊ aʊt tə ˈdɪnər ɪn Mayfair. ɪt həd ə ˈdaɪəl ðə ˈkʌlər əv ə rɪˈvɒlvə səˈraʊndɪd baɪ ə ˈsteɪnləs-stiːl rɪm, ə rɛd ˈniːdᵊl- θɪn aʊə hænd ənd ə ˈsʌnsɛt ˈɒrɪnʤ ˈmɪnɪt hænd. ðɪs ˈnəʊtˌwɜːði bæʤ əv ˈɒnə wəz juːˈnaɪtɪd wɪð ə waɪd blæk ˈrʌbə stræp, ˈlɛndɪŋ ə ˈdaɪvə-laɪk fiːl tə ðə həʊl lʌɡˈʒʊəriəs lʊk. "ə ˈhʌndrəd ɡrænd, ˈiːzᵊli," sɛd ði ˌɒntrəprəˈnɜː dɪˈskriːtli. "sʌm əv ðə ˈpiːpᵊl ət maɪ ʃɒp bɔːt ˈwɒʧɪz laɪk ðət ðə deɪ ˈɑːftər ˈaʊər aɪ-piː-əʊ. ʌnˈfɔːʧᵊnətli, ˈaʊə ʃeə praɪs ˈplʌmɪtɪd. bət ðeɪ kɛpt ðeə dæm ˈtaɪmpiːsɪz." "səʊ, wɒt pɑːt əv ðə ˈspɛlˌbaɪndəz tɔːk dɪd jʊ kæts laɪk bɛst?" ðə ˈvæɡəbɒnd ɑːskt, stɪl ˈskræʧɪŋ ɪz rɪst. "wəz ɪt ɔːl ðə stʌf əˈbaʊt ðə saɪˈkɒləʤi əv ˈʤiːniəs ðət hi ˈstɑːtɪd aʊt wɪð? ɔː ˈmeɪbi ðəʊz incred- ible ˈmɒdᵊlz hi tɔːt ɒn ðə ˌprɒdʌkˈtɪvəti hæks əv ˌbɪljəˈneəz ðət hi ʤæmd ɒn ɪn ðə ˈmɪdᵊl? ˈmeɪbi jʊ wə stəʊkt baɪ ɔːl ðə ˈnjʊərəʊ- baɪˈɒləʤi ðət kriˈeɪts tɒp pəˈfɔːməns.

Page -15 Or did you vibe with his theory on our responsibility to reach legendary while serving as an instru- ment for the benefit of humanity that he walked us through before that dramatic finish?" The homeless man then winked. And glanced at his big watch. "Hey, dudes, this has been fun. But time is one of the most precious commodities I've learned to bulletproof. Warren Buffett, the brilliant investor, said the rich invest in time. The poor invest in money. So I can't hang with you humans too long. Got a meeting with a jet and a runway. Know what I mean?" "He seems to be delusional," thought the entrepreneur. "Buffett also said, 'I buy expensive suits. They just look cheap on me. Maybe you'll remember that quote, too. And," she continued, "I really don't mean to be rude, but I'm not sure how you got in here. And I have no idea where you got that fat watch from or what jet you're talking about. And please stop speaking the way you do about what happened at the presentation. Nothing funny about it. Seriously, I'm not sure the gentleman's still breathing." "Def true," the artist agreed as he stroked his goatee. "Not cool. And why do you talk like a surfer?" "Hey guys, chill," said the homeless man. "First, I am a surfer. I spent my teenage years on a board in Malibu. Used to ride near a point where the rad breaks are. Now I surf the smaller waves in Tamarin Bay, a spot you cats have probably never been to." "Never heard of the place. You're fairly outrageous," the entrepreneur said frostily. The homeless man was unstoppable. "And second, I have been very successful in the business world. I've built a bunch of companies that are extremely profitable in this age of firms making billions in income yet nothing on their bottom line. What a joke. The world's going a little berserk. Too much greed and not enough good sense. And third, if I may," he added as his gravelly voice grew stronger, "there is a plane waiting for me. peɪʤ -15 ɔː dɪd jʊ vaɪb wɪð ɪz ˈθɪəri ɒn ˈaʊə rɪˌspɒnsɪˈbɪləti tə riːʧ ˈlɛʤᵊndri waɪl ˈsɜːvɪŋ əz ən instru- ment fə ðə ˈbɛnɪfɪt əv hjuːˈmænəti ðət hi wɔːkt əs θruː bɪˈfɔː ðət drəˈmætɪk ˈfɪnɪʃ?" ðə ˈhəʊmləs mæn ðɛn wɪŋkt. ənd ɡlɑːnst ət ɪz bɪɡ wɒʧ. "heɪ, djuːdz, ðɪs həz biːn fʌn. bət taɪm z wʌn əv ðə məʊst ˈprɛʃəs kəˈmɒdətiz aɪv lɜːnd tə ˈbʊlɪtpruːf. ˈwɒrᵊn Buffett, ðə ˈbrɪljənt ɪnˈvɛstə, sɛd ðə rɪʧ ɪnˈvɛst ɪn taɪm. ðə pɔːr ɪnˈvɛst ɪn ˈmʌni. səʊ aɪ kɑːnt hæŋ wɪð jʊ ˈhjuːmənz tuː lɒŋ. ɡɒt ə ˈmiːtɪŋ wɪð ə ʤɛt ənd ə ˈrʌnweɪ. nəʊ wɒt aɪ miːn?" "hi siːmz tə bi dɪˈluːʒᵊnᵊl," θɔːt ði ˌɒntrəprəˈnɜː. "Buffett ˈɔːlsəʊ sɛd, aɪ baɪ ɪkˈspɛnsɪv suːts. ðeɪ ʤəst lʊk ʧiːp ɒn miː. ˈmeɪbi juːl rɪˈmɛmbə ðət kwəʊt, tuː. ænd," ʃi kənˈtɪnjuːd, "aɪ ˈrɪəli dəʊnt miːn tə bi ruːd, bət aɪm nɒt ʃɔː haʊ jʊ ɡɒt ɪn hɪə. ənd aɪ həv nəʊ aɪˈdɪə weə jʊ ɡɒt ðət fæt wɒʧ frəm ɔː wɒt ʤɛt jə ˈtɔːkɪŋ əˈbaʊt. ənd pliːz stɒp ˈspiːkɪŋ ðə weɪ jʊ dʊ əˈbaʊt wɒt ˈhæpᵊnd ət ðə ˌprɛzᵊnˈteɪʃᵊn. ˈnʌθɪŋ ˈfʌni əˈbaʊt ɪt. ˈsɪəriəsli, aɪm nɒt ʃɔː ðə ˈʤɛntᵊlmənz stɪl ˈbriːðɪŋ." "dɛf truː," ði ˈɑːtɪst əˈɡriːd əz hi strəʊkt ɪz ɡəʊˈtiː. "nɒt kuːl. ənd waɪ dʊ jʊ tɔːk laɪk ə ˈsɜːfə?" "heɪ ɡaɪz, ʧɪl," sɛd ðə ˈhəʊmləs mæn. "fɜːst, aɪ əm ə ˈsɜːfə. aɪ spɛnt maɪ ˈtiːneɪʤ jɪəz ɒn ə bɔːd ɪn ˈmælɪbuː. juːzd tə raɪd nɪər ə pɔɪnt weə ðə rad breɪks ɑː. naʊ aɪ sɜːf ðə ˈsmɔːlə weɪvz ɪn Tamarin beɪ, ə spɒt jʊ kæts həv ˈprɒbəbli ˈnɛvə biːn tu." "ˈnɛvə hɜːd əv ðə pleɪs. jə ˈfeəli aʊtˈreɪʤəs," ði ˌɒntrəprəˈnɜː sɛd ˈfrɒstɪli. ðə ˈhəʊmləs mæn wəz ʌnˈstɒpəbᵊl. "ənd ˈsɛkənd, aɪ həv biːn ˈvɛri səkˈsɛsfᵊl ɪn ðə ˈbɪznɪs wɜːld. aɪv bɪlt ə bʌnʧ əv ˈkʌmpəniz ðət ər ɪkˈstriːmli ˈprɒfɪtəbᵊl ɪn ðɪs eɪʤ əv fɜːmz ˈmeɪkɪŋ ˈbɪljənz ɪn ˈɪnkʌm jɛt ˈnʌθɪŋ ɒn ðeə ˈbɒtᵊm laɪn. wɒt ə ʤəʊk. ðə wɜːldz ˈɡəʊɪŋ ə ˈlɪtᵊl bəˈzɜːk. tuː mʌʧ ɡriːd ənd nɒt ɪˈnʌf ɡʊd sɛns. ənd θɜːd, ɪf aɪ meɪ," hi ˈædɪd əz ɪz ˈɡrævli vɔɪs ɡruː ˈstrɒŋɡə, "ðə z ə pleɪn ˈweɪtɪŋ fə miː.

Page-16 On a tarmac not so far from here. So, before I go, I'll ask you again-because I want to know. What part of The Spellbinder's presentation did you two like best?" hapretty much the whole thing," the artist answered. "Loved it all so much, I recorded every word the old legend said." "That's illegal," cautioned the homeless man, crossing his arms firmly. "You could get into serious lawyer trouble doing that." "It is against the law," confirmed the entrepreneur. "Why would you do that?" "Because I wanted to. Just felt like it. I do what I want to do. Rules are made for destruction, you know? Picasso said you should learn the rules like a pro so you can break them like an artist. Need to be myself and not some sheep with no balls, blindly following the flock down a path that leads to nowhere. Most people, especially people with cash, are noth ing but a bunch of frauds," declared the artist. "It's like The Spellbinder sometimes says: 'You can fit in. Or you can change the world. You don't get to do both. So, I recorded the whole thing. Shoot me. And jail would be interesting. I'd probably meet some cool people in there." "Um, okay," said the homeless man. "I don't like your decision. But I do love your passion. So, go ahead. Bring it on. Play the parts of the seminar that turned you on." "Everything I recorded will blow your mind!" The artist raised his arm to reveal a detailed tattoo of guitar virtuoso Jimi Hendrix. The phrase "When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace" appeared over the dead superstar's face. "You're about to hear something special," he added. "Yes. Go ahead and play the parts you liked," encouraged the entre- preneur as she stood up. She wasn't quite sure why but, ever so slightly, something was beginning to shift deep within her core. "Maybe life has been breaking me down," she thought. "So I can make some sort of a breakthrough." ɒn ə ˈtɑːmæk nɒt səʊ fɑː frəm hɪə. səʊ, bɪˈfɔːr aɪ ɡəʊ, aɪl ɑːsk jʊ əˈɡɛn-bɪˈkɒz aɪ wɒnt tə nəʊ. wɒt pɑːt əv ðə ˈspɛlˌbaɪndəz ˌprɛzᵊnˈteɪʃᵊn dɪd jʊ tuː laɪk bɛst?" hapretty mʌʧ ðə həʊl θɪŋ," ði ˈɑːtɪst ˈɑːnsəd. "lʌvd ɪt ɔːl səʊ mʌʧ, aɪ rɪˈkɔːdɪd ˈɛvri wɜːd ði əʊld ˈlɛʤənd sɛd." "ðæts ɪˈliːɡᵊl," ˈkɔːʃᵊnd ðə ˈhəʊmləs mæn, ˈkrɒsɪŋ ɪz ɑːmz ˈfɜːmli. "jʊ kəd ɡɛt ˈɪntə ˈsɪəriəs ˈlɔɪə ˈtrʌbᵊl ˈduːɪŋ ðæt." "ɪt s əˈɡɛnst ðə lɔː," kənˈfɜːmd ði ˌɒntrəprəˈnɜː. "waɪ wəd jʊ dʊ ðæt?" "bɪˈkəz aɪ ˈwɒntɪd tu. ʤəst fɛlt laɪk ɪt. aɪ dʊ wɒt aɪ wɒnt tə duː. ruːlz ə meɪd fə dɪˈstrʌkʃᵊn, jʊ nəʊ? pɪˈkæsəʊ sɛd jʊ ʃəd lɜːn ðə ruːlz laɪk ə prəʊ səʊ jʊ kən breɪk ðəm laɪk ən ˈɑːtɪst. niːd tə bi maɪˈsɛlf ənd nɒt səm ʃiːp wɪð nəʊ bɔːlz, ˈblaɪndli ˈfɒləʊɪŋ ðə flɒk daʊn ə pɑːθ ðət liːdz tə ˈnəʊweə. məʊst ˈpiːpᵊl, ɪˈspɛʃᵊli ˈpiːpᵊl wɪð kæʃ, ɑː noth ing bət ə bʌnʧ əv frɔːdz," dɪˈkleəd ði ˈɑːtɪst. "ɪts laɪk ðə ˈspɛlˌbaɪndə ˈsʌmtaɪmz sɛz: jʊ kən fɪt ɪn. ɔː jʊ kən ʧeɪnʤ ðə wɜːld. jʊ dəʊnt ɡɛt tə dʊ bəʊθ. səʊ, aɪ rɪˈkɔːdɪd ðə həʊl θɪŋ. ʃuːt miː. ənd ʤeɪl wəd bi ˈɪntrɛstɪŋ. aɪd ˈprɒbəbli miːt səm kuːl ˈpiːpᵊl ɪn ðeə." "əm, ˌəʊˈkeɪ," sɛd ðə ˈhəʊmləs mæn. "aɪ dəʊnt laɪk jə dɪˈsɪʒᵊn. bət aɪ dʊ lʌv jə ˈpæʃᵊn. səʊ, ɡəʊ əˈhɛd. brɪŋ ɪt ɒn. pleɪ ðə pɑːts əv ðə ˈsɛmɪnɑː ðət tɜːnd jʊ ɒn." "ˈɛvriθɪŋ aɪ rɪˈkɔːdɪd wɪl bləʊ jə maɪnd!" ði ˈɑːtɪst reɪzd ɪz ɑːm tə rɪˈviːl ə ˈdiːteɪld təˈtuː əv ɡɪˈtɑː ˌvɜːʧuˈəʊsəʊ Jimi Hendrix. ðə freɪz "wɛn ðə ˈpaʊər əv lʌv ˌəʊvəˈkʌmz ðə lʌv əv ˈpaʊə, ðə wɜːld wɪl nəʊ piːs" əˈpɪəd ˈəʊvə ðə dɛd ˈsuːpəˌstɑːz feɪs. "jər əˈbaʊt tə hɪə ˈsʌmθɪŋ ˈspɛʃᵊl," hi ˈædɪd. "jɛs. ɡəʊ əˈhɛd ənd pleɪ ðə pɑːts jʊ laɪkt," ɪnˈkʌrɪʤd ði entre- preneur əz ʃi stʊd ʌp. ʃi ˈwɒzᵊnt kwaɪt ʃɔː waɪ bʌt, ˈɛvə səʊ ˈslaɪtli, ˈsʌmθɪŋ wəz bɪˈɡɪnɪŋ tə ʃɪft diːp wɪˈðɪn hə kɔː. "ˈmeɪbi laɪf həz biːn ˈbreɪkɪŋ mi daʊn," ʃi θɔːt. "səʊ aɪ kən meɪk səm sɔːt əv ə ˈbreɪkˌθruː."

Page-17 Being at this event, meeting the artist, hearing The Spellbinder's words, even if she didn't agree with all he said, was giving her the feeling that what she was experiencing at her firm just might be some form of preparation demanded by her greatness. The entrepreneur was still skeptical. But she sensed she was opening. And possibly growing. So, she promised herself she'd keep following this process instead of retreating. Her former way of existing no longer served her. It was time for a change. The entrepreneur thought about a quote she loved from Theodore Roosevelt: "It's not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes up short again and again because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat." She also recalled the phrase she'd learned from The Spellbinder's address-something like "The moment when you most feel like giving up is the instant when you must find it in you to press ahead." And so, the businesswoman reached deep within herself and made a vow to continue her quest to find her answers, solve her problems and experience vastly better days. Her hope was gradually expanding, and her worries were slowly shrinking. And the small, still voice of her finest self was beginning to whisper that a very special adventure was about to begin. peɪʤ-17 ˈbiːɪŋ ət ðɪs ɪˈvɛnt, ˈmiːtɪŋ ði ˈɑːtɪst, ˈhɪərɪŋ ðə ˈspɛlˌbaɪndəz wɜːdz, ˈiːvᵊn ɪf ʃi ˈdɪdᵊnt əˈɡriː wɪð ɔːl hi sɛd, wəz ˈɡɪvɪŋ hə ðə ˈfiːlɪŋ ðət wɒt ʃi wəz ɪkˈspɪəriənsɪŋ ət hə fɜːm ʤəst maɪt bi səm fɔːm əv ˌprɛpᵊrˈeɪʃᵊn dɪˈmɑːndɪd baɪ hə ˈɡreɪtnəs. ði ˌɒntrəprəˈnɜː wəz stɪl ˈskɛptɪkᵊl. bət ʃi sɛnst ʃi wəz ˈəʊpᵊnɪŋ. ənd ˈpɒsəbli ˈɡrəʊɪŋ. səʊ, ʃi ˈprɒmɪst həˈsɛlf ʃiːd kiːp ˈfɒləʊɪŋ ðɪs ˈprəʊsɛs ɪnˈstɛd əv rɪˈtriːtɪŋ. hə ˈfɔːmə weɪ əv ɪɡˈzɪstɪŋ nəʊ ˈlɒŋɡə sɜːvd hɜː. ɪt wəz taɪm fər ə ʧeɪnʤ. ði ˌɒntrəprəˈnɜː θɔːt əˈbaʊt ə kwəʊt ʃi lʌvd frəm ˈθiːədɔː ˈrəʊzəvɛlt: "ɪts nɒt ðə ˈkrɪtɪk huː kaʊnts; nɒt ðə mæn huː pɔɪnts aʊt haʊ ðə strɒŋ mæn ˈstʌmbᵊlz, ɔː weə ðə ˈduːər əv diːdz kəd həv dʌn ðəm ˈbɛtə. ðə ˈkrɛdɪt bɪˈlɒŋz tə ðə mæn huː z ˈækʧuəli ɪn ði əˈriːnə, huːz feɪs ɪz mɑːd baɪ dʌst ənd swɛt ənd blʌd; huː straɪvz ˈvæliəntli; huː ɜːz, huː kʌmz ʌp ʃɔːt əˈɡɛn ənd əˈɡɛn bɪˈkəz ðə z nəʊ ˈɛfət wɪˈðaʊt ˈɛrər ənd ʃɔːtˈkʌmɪŋ; bət huː dəz ˈækʧuəli straɪv tə dʊ ðə diːdz; huː nəʊz ɡreɪt ɪnˈθjuːziæzᵊmz, ðə ɡreɪt dɪˈvəʊʃᵊnz; huː spɛndz ɪmˈsɛlf ɪn ə ˈwɜːði kɔːz; huː ət ðə bɛst nəʊz ɪn ði ɛnd ðə ˈtraɪəmf əv haɪ əˈʧiːvmənt, ənd huː ət ðə wɜːst, ɪf hi feɪlz, ət liːst feɪlz waɪl ˈdeərɪŋ ˈɡreɪtli, səʊ ðət ɪz pleɪs ʃəl ˈnɛvə bi wɪð ðəʊz kəʊld ənd ˈtɪmɪd səʊlz huː ˈnaɪðə nəʊ ˈvɪktᵊri nɔː dɪˈfiːt." ʃi ˈɔːlsəʊ rɪˈkɔːld ðə freɪz ʃiːd lɜːnd frəm ðə ˈspɛlˌbaɪndəz əˈdrɛs-ˈsʌmθɪŋ laɪk "ðə ˈməʊmənt wɛn jʊ məʊst fiːl laɪk ˈɡɪvɪŋ ʌp s ði ˈɪnstənt wɛn jʊ məst faɪnd ɪt ɪn jʊ tə prɛs əˈhɛd." ənd səʊ, ðə ˈbɪznɪswʊmən riːʧt diːp wɪˈðɪn həˈsɛlf ənd meɪd ə vaʊ tə kɒn- tinue hə kwɛst tə faɪnd hər ˈɑːnsəz, sɒlv hə ˈprɒbləmz ənd ɪkˈspɪəriəns ˈvɑːstli ˈbɛtə deɪz. hə həʊp wəz ˈɡræʤuəli ɪkˈspændɪŋ, ənd hə ˈwʌriz wə ˈsləʊli ˈʃrɪŋkɪŋ. ənd ðə smɔːl, stɪl vɔɪs əv hə ˈfaɪnɪst sɛlf wəz bɪˈɡɪnɪŋ tə ˈwɪspə ðət ə ˈvɛri ˈspɛʃᵊl ədˈvɛnʧə wəz əˈbaʊt tə bɪˈɡɪn.

Page-18 CHAPTER 4 Letting Go of Mediocrity and All That's Ordinary "Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast. -Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland "You're a painter, right?" the homeless man asked as he toyed with a loose button on his shabby shirt. "Yeah," mumbled the artist. "Sort of a frustrated one. I'm good. But not great." "I have a lot of art at my flat in Zurich," said the homeless man, smiling indulgently. "Bought a place right on the Bahnhofstrasse just before the prices skyrocketed. I've learned the importance of being around only the highest quality, wherever I go. That's one of the best winning moves I've made to create the life I've crafted. In my businesses, I only allow in top players, because you can't have an A-level company with C-level perform- ers. We only release products that totally disrupt our market and then absolutely change the field by how valuable they are. My enterprises only offer services that ethically enrich our clients, deliver a breathtaking user experience and breed fanatical followers who couldn't imagine doing business with anyone else. And in my personal life, it's the same thing: I only eat the best food, though I don't eat a lot of it. I only read the most original and thoughtful books, spend my time in the most light-filled and inspiring of spaces and visit the most enchanting of places. And when it comes to relationships, I only surround myself with human beings who fuel my joy, stoke my peace and excite me to become a better man. Life's way too valuable to hang with people who don't get you. Who you just don't vibe with. Who have different values and lower standards than you do. Who have different Mindsets, Heartsets, Healthsets and Soulsets, It's a little miracle how powerfully and profoundly our influences and environments shape our productivity as well as our impact." "Interesting," noted the entrepreneur as she stared at her phone. "He does seem to know what he's talking about," she muttered softly to the artist, her eyes still down on the screen. The spider's web of wrinkles on her face relaxed further. On one wrist dangled two immaculate silver bracelets. One bore the phrase "Turn I cant's into I cans," while the other was engraved with "Done Is Better Than Perfect." The entrepreneur had purchased these presents for herself when her company was in its startup phase and she'd been in a highly confident mood. "I know about Mindsets," said the artist. "Never heard of Heartsets, Healthsets and Soulsets, man." "You will," suggested the homeless man. "And once you do, the way you create, produce and show up in your world will never be the same. Seriously revolutionary concepts for any empire-maker and world-builder. And so few businesspeople and other human beings on the planet currently know about them. If they did, every important element of their lives would increase rapidly. For now, I just wanted to keep jamming on my personal commitment to ultra-high quality, in everything around me. Your surroundings really do shape your per- ceptions, your inspirations and your implementations. Art feeds my soul. Great books battleproof my hope. Rich conversations magnify my creativity. Wonderful music uplifts my heart. Beautiful sights fortify my spirit. peɪʤ-18 ˈʧæptə 4 ˈlɛtɪŋ ɡəʊ əv ˌmiːdiˈɒkrəti ənd ɔːl ðæts ˈɔːdᵊnᵊri "waɪ, ˈsʌmtaɪmz aɪv bɪˈliːvd əz ˈmɛni əz sɪks ɪmˈpɒsəbᵊl θɪŋz bɪˈfɔː ˈbrɛkfəst. -ˈluːɪs ˈkærəl, ˈælɪs ɪn ˈwʌndəlænd "jər ə ˈpeɪntə, raɪt?" ðə ˈhəʊmləs mæn ɑːskt əz hi tɔɪd wɪð ə luːs ˈbʌtᵊn ɒn ɪz ˈʃæbi ʃɜːt. "jeə," ˈmʌmbᵊld ði ˈɑːtɪst. "sɔːt əv ə frʌsˈtreɪtɪd wʌn. aɪm ɡʊd. bət nɒt ɡreɪt." "aɪ həv ə lɒt əv ɑːt ət maɪ flæt ɪn ˈzjʊᵊrɪk," sɛd ðə ˈhəʊmləs mæn, ˈsmaɪlɪŋ ɪnˈdʌlʤəntli. "bɔːt ə pleɪs raɪt ɒn ðə Bahnhofstrasse ʤəst bɪˈfɔː ðə ˈpraɪsɪz ˈskaɪˌrɒkɪtɪd. aɪv lɜːnd ði ɪmˈpɔːtᵊns əv ˈbiːɪŋ əˈraʊnd ˈəʊnli ðə ˈhaɪɪst ˈkwɒləti, weəˈrɛvər aɪ ɡəʊ. ðæts wʌn əv ðə bɛst ˈwɪnɪŋ muːvz aɪv meɪd tə kriˈeɪt ðə laɪf aɪv ˈkrɑːftɪd. ɪn maɪ ˈbɪznɪsɪz, aɪ ˈəʊnli əˈlaʊ ɪn tɒp ˈpleɪəz, bɪˈkəz jʊ kɑːnt həv ən ə-ˈlɛvᵊl ˈkʌmpəni wɪð siː-ˈlɛvᵊl pəˈfɔːm- ers. wi ˈəʊnli rɪˈliːs ˈprɒdʌkts ðət ˈtəʊtᵊli dɪsˈrʌpt ˈaʊə ˈmɑːkɪt ənd ðɛn ˈæbsəluːtli ʧeɪnʤ ðə fiːld baɪ haʊ ˈvæljəbᵊl ðeɪ ɑː. maɪ ˈɛntəpraɪzɪz ˈəʊnli ˈɒfə ˈsɜːvɪsɪz ðət ˈɛθɪkᵊli ɪnˈrɪʧ ˈaʊə ˈklaɪᵊnts, dɪˈlɪvər ə ˈbrɛθˌteɪkɪŋ ˈjuːzər ɪkˈspɪəriəns ənd briːd fəˈnætɪkᵊl ˈfɒləʊəz huː ˈkʊdᵊnt ɪˈmæʤɪn ˈduːɪŋ ˈbɪznɪs wɪð ˈɛniwʌn ɛls. ənd ɪn maɪ ˈpɜːsᵊnᵊl laɪf, ɪts ðə seɪm θɪŋ: aɪ ˈəʊnli iːt ðə bɛst fuːd, ðəʊ aɪ dəʊnt iːt ə lɒt əv ɪt. aɪ ˈəʊnli riːd ðə məʊst əˈrɪʤᵊnᵊl ənd ˈθɔːtfᵊl bʊks, spɛnd maɪ taɪm ɪn ðə məʊst laɪt-fɪld ənd ɪnˈspaɪərɪŋ əv ˈspeɪsɪz ənd ˈvɪzɪt ðə məʊst ɪnˈʧɑːntɪŋ əv ˈpleɪsɪz. ənd wɛn ɪt kʌmz tə rɪˈleɪʃᵊnʃɪps, aɪ ˈəʊnli səˈraʊnd maɪˈsɛlf wɪð ˈhjuːmən ˈbiːɪŋz huː ˈfjuːəl maɪ ʤɔɪ, stəʊk maɪ piːs ənd ɪkˈsaɪt mi tə bɪˈkʌm ə ˈbɛtə mæn. laɪfs weɪ tuː ˈvæljəbᵊl tə hæŋ wɪð ˈpiːpᵊl huː dəʊnt ɡɛt juː. huː jʊ ʤəst dəʊnt vaɪb wɪð. huː həv ˈdɪfᵊrᵊnt ˈvæljuːz ənd ˈləʊə ˈstændədz ðən jʊ duː. huː həv ˈdɪfᵊrᵊnt ˈmaɪndsɛts, Heartsets, Healthsets ənd Soulsets, ɪts ə ˈlɪtᵊl ˈmɪrəkᵊl haʊ ˈpaʊəfᵊli ənd prəˈfaʊndli ˈaʊər ˈɪnfluənsɪz ənd ɪnˈvaɪrᵊnmənts ʃeɪp ˈaʊə ˌprɒdʌkˈtɪvəti əz wɛl əz ˈaʊər ˈɪmpækt." "ˈɪntrɛstɪŋ," ˈnəʊtɪd ði ˌɒntrəprəˈnɜːr əz ʃi steəd ət hə fəʊn. "hi dəz siːm tə nəʊ wɒt hiːz ˈtɔːkɪŋ əˈbaʊt," ʃi ˈmʌtəd ˈsɒftli tə ði ˈɑːtɪst, hər aɪz stɪl daʊn ɒn ðə skriːn. ðə ˈspaɪdəz wɛb əv ˈrɪŋkᵊlz ɒn hə feɪs rɪˈlækst ˈfɜːðə. ɒn wʌn rɪst ˈdæŋɡᵊld tuː ɪˈmækjələt ˈsɪlvə ˈbreɪslɪts. wʌn bɔː ðə freɪz "tɜːn aɪ kænts ˈɪntə aɪ kænz," waɪl ði ˈʌðə wəz ɪnˈɡreɪvd wɪð "dʌn z ˈbɛtə ðən ˈpɜːfɛkt." ði ˌɒntrəprəˈnɜː həd ˈpɜːʧəst ðiːz ˈprɛzᵊnts fə həˈsɛlf wɛn hə ˈkʌmpəni wəz ɪn ɪts ˈstɑːtʌp feɪz ənd ʃiːd biːn ɪn ə ˈhaɪli ˈkɒnfɪdᵊnt muːd. "aɪ nəʊ əˈbaʊt ˈmaɪndsɛts," sɛd ði ˈɑːtɪst. "ˈnɛvə hɜːd əv Heartsets, Healthsets ənd Soulsets, mæn." "jʊ wɪl," səˈʤɛstɪd ðə ˈhəʊmləs mæn. "ənd wʌns jʊ duː, ðə weɪ jʊ kriˈeɪt, ˈprɒdjuːs ənd ʃəʊ ʌp ɪn jə wɜːld wɪl ˈnɛvə bi ðə seɪm. ˈsɪəriəsli ˌrɛvəˈluːʃᵊnᵊri ˈkɒnsɛpts fər ˈɛni ˈɛmpaɪə-ˈmeɪkər ənd wɜːld-ˈbɪldə. ənd səʊ fjuː ˈbɪznɪsˌpiːpᵊl ənd ˈʌðə ˈhjuːmən ˈbiːɪŋz ɒn ðə ˈplænɪt ˈkʌrᵊntli nəʊ əˈbaʊt ðɛm. ɪf ðeɪ dɪd, ˈɛvri ɪmˈpɔːtᵊnt ˈɛlɪmənt əv ðeə lɪvz wəd ɪnˈkriːs ˈræpɪdli. fə naʊ, aɪ ʤəst ˈwɒntɪd tə kiːp ˈʤæmɪŋ ɒn maɪ ˈpɜːsᵊnᵊl kəˈmɪtmənt tu ˈʌltrə-haɪ ˈkwɒləti, ɪn ˈɛvriθɪŋ əˈraʊnd miː. jə səˈraʊndɪŋz ˈrɪəli dʊ ʃeɪp jə pɜː- ceptions, jər ˌɪnspɪˈreɪʃᵊnz ənd jər ˌɪmplɪmɛnˈteɪʃᵊnz. ɑːt fiːdz maɪ səʊl. ɡreɪt bʊks battleproof maɪ həʊp. rɪʧ ˌkɒnvəˈseɪʃᵊnz ˈmæɡnɪfaɪ maɪ ˌkriːeɪˈtɪvəti. ˈwʌndəfᵊl ˈmjuːzɪk ˈʌplɪfts maɪ hɑːt. ˈbjuːtɪfᵊl saɪts ˈfɔːtɪfaɪ maɪ ˈspɪrɪt.